THE   CHILD   OF 
THE  DAWN 


By 

ARTHUR  CHRISTOPHER  BENSON 

Fellow  of  Magdalene  College,  Cambridge 


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0.  p.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 
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Copyright,  191  a 

BY 

ARTHUR  CHRISTOPHER  BENSON 


«bc  ftitfekerbocltet  pte0«»  Hew  ffetk 


MY  BEST  AND  DEAREST  FRIEND 

HERBERT  FRANCIS  WILLIAM  TATHAM 

IN  LOVE  AND  HOPE 


25738(j 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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INTRODUCTION 

I  THINK  that  a  book  like  the  following, 
which  deals  with  a  subject  so  great  and  so 
mysterious  as  our  hope  of  immortality,  by 
means  of  an  allegory  or  fantasy,  needs  a 
few  words  of  preface,  in  order  to  clear  away 
at  the  outset  any  misunderstandings  which 
may  possibly  arise  in  a  reader's  mind. 
Nothing  is  further  from  my  wish  than  to 
attempt  any  philosophical  or  ontological 
exposition  of  what  is  hidden  behind  the  veil 
of  death.  But  one  may  be  permitted  to 
deal  with  the  subject  imaginatively  or 
poetically,  to  translate  hopes  into  visions, 
as  I  have  tried  to  do. 

The  fact  that  underlies  the  book  is  this: 
that  in  the  course  of  a  very  sad  and  strange 
experience — an  illness  which  lasted  for  some 
two  years,  involving  me  in  a  dark  cloud  of 
dejection — I  came  to  believe  practically,  in- 
stead of  merely  theoretically,  in  the  personal 


vi  Introduction 

immortality  of  the  human  soul.  I  was  con- 
scious, during  the  whole  time,  that  though 
the  physical  machinery  of  the  nerves  was 
out  of  gear,  the  soul  and  the  mind  remained, 
not  only  intact,  but  practically  unaffected 
by  the  disease,  imprisoned,  like  a  bird  in  a 
cage,  but  perfectly  free  in  themselves,  and 
uninjured  by  the  bodily  weakness  which  en- 
veloped them.  This  was  not  all.  T  was  led 
to  perceive  that  I  had  been  living  life  with 
an  entirely  distorted  standard  of  values;  I 
had  been  ambitious,  covetous,  eager  for 
comfort  and  respect,  absorbed  in  trivial 
dreams  and  childish  fancies.  I  saw,  in  the 
course  of  my  illness,  that  what  really  mat- 
tered to  the  soul  was  the  relation  in  which 
it  stood  to  other  souls;  that  affection  was 
the  native  air  of  the  spirit;  and  that  any- 
thing which  distracted  the  heart  from  the 
duty  of  love  was  a  kind  of  bodily  delusion,  |\ 
and  simply  hindered  the  spirit  in  its 
pilgrimage. 

It  is  easy  to  learn  this,  to  attain  to  a 
sense  of  certainty  about  it,  and  yet  to  be 


Introduction  vii 

unable  to  put  it  into  practice  as  simply  and 
frankly  as  one  desires  to  do!  The  body 
grows  strong  again  and  reasserts  itself;  but 
the  blessed  consciousness  of  a  great  possi- 
bility  apprehended  and  grasped  remains. 

There  came  to  me,  too,  a  sense  that  one 
of  the  saddest  effects  of  what  is  practically 
a  widespread  disbelief  in  immortality,  which 
affects  many  people  who  would  nominally 
disclaim  it,  is  that  we  think  of  the  soul 
after  death  as  a  thing  so  altered  as  to  be 
practically  unrecognisable — as  a  meek  and 
pious  emanation,  without  qualities  or  aims 
or  passions  or  traits — as  a  sort  of  amiable 
and  weak-kneed  sacristan  in  the  temple  of 
God;  and  this  is  the  unhappy  result  of  our 
so  often  making  religion  a  pursuit  apart 
from  life — an  occupation,  not  an  atmo- 
sphere; so  that  it  seems  impious  to  think 
of  the  departed  spirit  as  interested  in  any- 
thing but  a  vague  species  of  liturgical 
exercise. 

I  read  the  other  day  the  account  of  the 
death-bed  of  a  great  statesman,  which  was 


viii  Introduction 

written  from  what  I  may  call  a  somewhat 
clerical  point  of  view.  It  was  recorded 
with  much  gusto  that  the  dying  politician 
took  no  interest  in  his  schemes  of  govern- 
ment and  cares  of  State,  but  found  per- 
petual solace  in  the  repetition  of  childish 
hymns.  This  fact  had,  or  might  have  had, 
a  certain  beauty  of  its  own,  if  it  had  been 
expressly  stated  that  it  was  a  proof  that 
the  tired  and  broken  mind  fell  back  upon 
old,  simple,  and  dear  recollections  of  by- 
gone love.  But  there  was  manifest  in  the 
record  a  kind  of  sanctimonious  triumph  in 
the  extinction  of  all  the  great  man's  in- 
sight and  wisdom.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
the  right  treatment  of  the  episode  was 
rather  to  insist  that  those  great  qualities, 
won  by  brave  experience  and  unselfish 
effort,  were  only  temporarily  obscured,  and 
belonged  actually  and  essentially  to  the 
spirit  of  the  man;  and  that  if  heaven  is 
indeed,  as  we  may  thankfully  believe,  a 
place  of  work  and  progress,  those  qualities 
would   be   actively   and   energetically   em- 


Introduction  ix 

ployed  as  soon  as  the  soul  was  freed  from 
the  trammels  of  the  failing  body. 

Another  point  may  also  be  mentioned. 
The  idea  of  transmigration  and  reincarna- 
tion is  here  used  as  a  possible  solution  for 
the  extreme  difficulties  which  beset  the 
question  of  the  apparently  fortuitous  brev- 
ity of  some  human  lives.  I  do  not,  of 
course,  propound  it  as  literally  and  pre- 
cisely as  it  is  here  set  down — it  is  not  a 
forecast  of  the  future,  so  much  as  a  sym- 
bolising of  the  forces  of  life — but  the  re- 
newal of  conscious  experience^  in  some  form 
or  other,  seems  to  be  the  only  way  out  of 
the  difficulty,  and  it  is  that  which  is  here 
indicated.  If  life  is  a  probation  for  those 
who  have  to  face  experience  and  temptation, 
how  can  it  be  a  probation  for  infants  and 
children,  who  die  before  the  faculty  of  moral 
choice  is  developed?  Again,  I  find  it  very 
hard  to  believe  in  any  multiplication  of 
human  souls.  It  is  even  more  difficult  for 
me  to  believe  in  the  creation  of  new  souls 
than  in  the  creation  of  new  matter.      Sci- 


X  Introduction 

eDce  has  shown  us  that  there  is  no  actual 
addition  made  to  the  sum  of  matter,  and 
that  the  apparent  creation  of  new  forms  of 
plants  or  animals  is  nothing  more  than  a 
rearrangement  of  existing  particles — that  if 
a  new  form  appears  in  one  place,  it  merely 
means  that  so  much  matter  is  transferred 
thither  from  another  place.  I  find  it,  I  say, 
hard  to  believe  that  the  sum  total  of  life 
is  actually  increased.  To  put  it  very  simply 
for  the  sake  of  clearness,  and  accepting  the 
assumption  that  human  life  had  some  time 
a  beginning  on  this  planet,  it  seems  impos- 
sible to  think  that  when,  let  us  say,  the  two 
first  progenitors  of  the  race  died,  there  were 
but  two  souls  in  heaven;  that  when  the 
next  generation  died  there  were,  let  us  say, 
ten  souls  in  heaven;  and  that  this  number 
has  been  added  to  by  thousands  and  mil- 
lions, until  the  unseen  world  is  peopled,  as 
it  must  be  now,  if  no  reincarnation  is  pos- 
sible, by  myriads  of  human  identities,  who, 
after  a  single  brief  taste  of  incarnate  life, 
join   some  vast   community   of   spirits   in 


Introduction  xi 

which  they  eternally  reside.  I  do  not  say 
that  this  latter  belief  may  not  be  true;  I 
only  say  that  in  default  of  evidence,  it 
seems  to  me  a  difficult  faith  to  hold ;  while 
a  reincarnation  of  spirits,  if  one  could  be- 
lieve it,  would  seem  to  me  both  to  equalise 
the  inequalities  of  human  experience,  and 
give  one  a  lively  belief  in  the  virtue  and 
worth  of  human  endeavour.  But  all  this 
is  set  down,  as  I  say,  in  a  tentative  and  not 
in  a  philosophical  form. 

And  I  have  also  in  these  pages  kept  ad- 
visedly clear  of  Christian  doctrines  and 
beliefs ;  not  because  I  do  not  believe  whole- 
heartedly in  the  divine  origin  and  unex- 
hausted vitality  of  the  Christian  revelation, 
but  because  I  do  not  intend  to  lay  rash  and 
profane  hands  upon  the  highest  and  holiest 
of  mysteries. 

I  will  add  one  word  about  the  genesis  of 
the  book.  Some  time  ago  I  wrote  a  number 
of  short  tales  of  an  allegorical  type.  It 
was  a  curious  experience.  I  seemed  to  have 
come  upon  them  in  my  mind,  as  one  comes 


xii  Introduction 

upon  a  covey  of  birds  in  a  field.  One  by 
one  they  took  wings  and  flew;  and  when 
I  had  finished,  though  I  was  anxious  to 
write  more  tales,  I  could  not  discover  any 
more,  though  I  beat  the  covert  patiently 
to  dislodge  them. 

This  particular  tale  rose  unbidden  in  my 
mind.  I  was  never  conscious  of  creating 
any  of  its  incidents.  It  seemed  to  be  all 
there  from  the  beginning;  and  I  felt 
throughout  like  a  man  making  his  way 
along  a  road,  and  describing  what  he  sees 
as  he  goes.  The  road  stretched  ahead  of 
me;  I  could  not  see  beyond  the  next  turn 
at  any  moment;  it  just  unrolled  itself  in- 
evitably and,  I  will  add,  very  swiftly  to 
my  view,  and  w^as  thus  a  strange  and  mo- 
mentous experience. 

I  will  only  add  that  the  book  is  all  based 
upon  an  intense  belief  in  God,  and  a  no 
less  intense  conviction  of  personal  im- 
mortality and  personal  responsibility.  It 
aims  at  bringing  out  the  fact  that  our  life 
is  a  very  real  pilgrimage  to  high  and  far-off 


Introduction  xiii 

things  from  mean  and  sordid  beginnings, 
and  that  the  key  of  the  mystery  lies  in  the 
frank  facing  of  experience,  as  a  blessed  pro- 
cess by  which  the  secret  purpose  of  God  is 
made  known  to  us;  and,  even  more,  in  a 
passionate  belief  in  Love,  the  love  of  friend 
and  neighbour,  and  the  love  bt  God;  and 
in  the  absolute  faith  that  we  are  all  of  us, 
from  the  lowest  and  most  degraded  human 
soul  to  the  loftiest  and  wisest,  knit  to- 
gether with  chains  of  infinite  nearness  and 
dearness,  under  God,  and  in  Him,  and 
through  Him,  now  and  hereafter  and  for 
evermore. 

A.  C.  B. 

The  Old  Lodge,  Magdalene  College, 
Cambridge,  January,  1912. 


% 


HW* 


•^.-'. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn 


Certainly  the  last  few  moments  of  my 
former  material,  worn-out  life,  as  I  must 
still  call  it,  were  made  horrible  enough  for 
me.  I  came  to,  after  the  operation,  in  a 
deadly  sickness  and  ghastly  confusion  of 
thought.  I  was  just  dimly  conscious  of  the 
trim,  bare  room,  the  white  bed,  a  figure  or 
two,  but  everything  else  was  swallowed  up 
in  the  pain,  which  filled  all  my  senses  at 
once.  Yet  surely,  I  thought,  it  is  all  some- 
thing outside  me?  .  .  .  my  brain  began  to 
wander,  and  the  pain  became  a  thing.  It 
was  a  tower  of  stone,  high  and  blank,  with 
a  little  sinister  window  high  up,  from  which 
something  was  every  now  and  then  waved 
above  the  house-roofs.  .  .  .     The  tower  was 


1  K  *• 


2  The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

gone  in  a  moment,  and  there  was  a  heap 
piled  up  on  the  floor  of  a  great  room  with 
open  beams — a  granary,  perhaps.  The  heap 
was  of  curved  sharp  steel  things  like  sickles : 
something  moved  and  muttered  underneath 
it,  and  blood  ran  out  on  the  floor.  Then 
I  was  instantly  myself,  and  the  pain  was 
with  me  again;  and  then  there  fell  on  me 
a  sense  of  faintness,  so  that  the  cold  sweat- 
drops  ran  suddenly  out  on  my  brow.  There 
came  a  smell  of  drugs,  sharp  and  pungent, 
on  the  air.  I  heard  a  door  open  softly,  and 
a  voice  said,  "  He  is  sinking  fast — they  must 
be  sent  for  at  once."  Then  there  were  more 
people  in  the  room,  people  whom  I  thought 
I  had  known  once,  long  ago;  but  I  was 
buried  and  crushed  under  the  pain,  like  the 
thing  beneath  the  heap  of  sickles.  There 
sw^ept  over  me  a  dreadful  fear ;  and  I  could 
see  that  the  fear  was  reflected  in  the  faces 
above  me ;  but  now  they  were  strangely  dis- 
torted and  elongated,  so  that  I  could  have 
laughed,  if  only  I  had  had  the  time;  but 
I  had  to  move  the  weight  off  me,  which 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn  3 

was  crushing  me.  Then  a  roaring  sound 
began  to  come  and  go  upon  the  air,  louder 
and  louder,  faster  and  faster;  the  strange 
pungent  scent  came  again;  and  then  I  was 
thrust  down  under  the  weight,  monstrous, 
insupportable;  further  and  further  down; 
and  there  came  a  sharp  bright  streak,  like 
a  blade  severing  the  strands  of  a  rope 
drawn  taut  and  tense;  another  and  an- 
other; one  was  left,  and  the  blade  drew 
near.  ... 

I  fell  suddenly  out  of  the  sound  and 
scent  and  pain  into  the  most  incredible  and 
blessed  peace  and  silence.  It  would  have 
been  like  a  sleep,  but  I  was  still  perfectly 
conscious,  with  a  sense  of  unutterable  and 
blissful  fatigue ;  a  picture  passed  before  me, 
of  a  calm  sea,  of  vast  depth  and  clearness. 
There  were  cliffs  at  a  little  distance,  great 
headlands  and  rocky  spires.  I  seemed  to 
myself  to  have  left  them,  to  have  come  down 
through  them,  to  have  embarked.  There 
was  a  pale  light  everywhere,  flushed  with 
rose-colour,    like    the    light   of   a   summer 


4  The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

dawn;  and  I  felt  as  I  had  once  felt  as  a 
child,  awakened  early  in  the  little  old  house 
among  the  orchards,  on  a  spring  morning; 
I  had  risen  from  my  bed,  and  leaning  out 
of  my  window,  filled  with  a  delightful 
wonder,  I  had  seen  the  cool  morning 
quicken  into  light  among  the  dewy  apple- 
blossoms.  That  was  what  I  felt  like,  as  I 
lay  upon  the  moving  tide,  glad  to  rest,  not 
wondering  or  hoping,  not  fearing  or  expect- 
ing anything — ^just  there,  and  at  peace. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  time  in  that  other 
blessed  morning,  no  need  to  do  anything. 
The  cliffs,  I  did  not  know  how,  faded  from 
me,  and  the  boundless  sea  was  about  me  on 
every  side;  but  I  cannot  describe  the  time- 
lessness  of  it.  There  are  no  human  words 
for  it  all,  yet  I  must  speak  of  it  in  terms 
of  time  and  space,  because  both  time  and 
space  were  there,  though  I  was  not  bound 
by  them. 

And  here  first  I  will  say  a  few  words 
about  the  manner  of  speech  I  shall  use.  It 
is  very  hard  to  make  clear,  but  I  think  I 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn  5 

can  explain  it  in  an  image.  I  once  walked 
alone,  on  a  perfect  summer  day,  on  the 
South  Downs.  The  great  smooth  shoulders 
of  the  hills  lay  left  and  right,  and,  in  front 
of  me,  the  rich  tufted  grass  ran  suddenly 
down  to  the  plain,  which  stretched  out  be- 
fore me  like  a  map.  I  saw  the  fields  and 
woods,  the  minute  tiled  hamlet-roofs,  the 
white  roads,  on  which  crawled  tiny  carts. 
A  shepherd,  far  below,  drove  his  flock  along 
a  little  deep-cut  lane  among  high  hedges. 
The  sounds  of  earth  came  faintly  and 
sweetly  up,  obscure  sounds  of  which  I  could 
not  tell  the  origin ;  but  the  tinkling  of  sheep- 
bells  was  the  clearest,  and  the  barking  of 
the  shepherd-dog.  My  own  dog  sat  beside 
me,  watching  my  face,  impatient  to  be  gone. 
But  at  the  barking  he  pricked  up  his  ears, 
put  his  head  on  one  side,  and  wondered,  I 
saw,  where  that  companionable  sound  came 
from.  What  he  made  of  the  scene  I  do  not 
know;  the  sight  of  the  fruitful  earth,  the 
homes  of  men,  the  fields  and  waters,  filled 
me  with  an  inexpressible  emotion,  a  wide- 


6  The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

flung  hope,  a  sense  of  the  immensity  anil 
intricacy  of  life.  But  to  my  dog  it  meant 
nothing  at  all,  though  he  saw  just  what  I 
did.  To  him  it  was  nothing  but  a  great  ex- 
cavation in  the  earth,  patched  and  streaked 
with  green.  It  was  not  then  the  scene  it- 
self that  I  loved;  that  was  only  a  symbol 
of  emotions  and  ideas  within  me.  It 
touched  the  spring  of  a  host  of  beautiful 
thoughts;  but  the  beauty  and  the  sweetness 
were  the  contribution  of  my  own  heart  and 
mind. 

Now  in  the  new  world  in  which  I  found 
myself,  I  api)roached  the  thoughts  of  beauty 
and  loveliness  direct,  without  any  inter- 
vening symbols  at  all.  The  emotions  which 
beautiful  things  had  aroused  in  me  upon 
earth  were  all  there,  in  the  new  life,  but 
not  confused  or  blurred,  as  they  had  been 
in  the  old  life,  by  the  intruding  symbols  of 
ugly,  painful,  evil  things.  That  was  all 
gone  like  a  mist.  I  could  not  think  an 
evil  or  an  ugly  thought. 

For  a  period  it  was  so  with  me.     For  a 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn  7 

long  time — I  will  use  the  words  of  earth 
henceforth  without  any  explanation — I 
abode  in  the  same  calm,  untroubled  peace, 
partly  in  memory  of  the  old  days,  partly 
in  the  new  visions.  My  senses  seemed  all 
blended  in  one  sense;  it  was  not  sight  or 
hearing  or  touch — it  was  but  an  instant 
apprehension  of  the  essence  of  things.  All 
that  time  I  was  absolutely  alone,  though  I 
had  a  sense  of  being  watched  and  tended 
in  a  sort  of  helpless  and  happy  infancy.  It 
was  always  the  quiet  sea,  and  the  dawning 
light.  I  lived  over  the  scenes  of  the  old 
life  in  a  vague,  blissful  memory.  For  the 
joy  of  the  new  life  was  that  all  that  had 
befallen  me  had  a  strange  and  perfect  sig- 
nificance. I  had  lived  like  other  men.  I 
had  rejoiced,  toiled,  schemed,  suffered, 
sinned.  But  it  was  all  one  now.  I  saw 
that  each  influence  had  somehow  been  shap- 
ing and  moulding  me.  The  evil  I  had  done, 
was  it  indeed  evil?  It  had  been  the  flower- 
ing of  a  root  of  bitterness,  the  impact  of 
material  forces  and  influences.     Had  I  ever 


8  The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

desired  it?  Not  in  my  spirit,  I  now  felt. 
Sin  had  brought  me  shame  and  sorrow,  and 
they  had  done  their  work.  Eepentance, 
contrition — ugly  words!  I  laughed  softly 
at  the  thought  of  how  different  it  all  was 
from  what  I  had  dreamed.  I  was  as  the  lost 
sheep  found,  as  the  wayward  son  taken 
home;  and  should  I  spoil  my  joy  with  re- 
calling what  was  past  and  done  with  for 
ever?  Forgiveness  was  not  a  process,  then, 
a  thing  to  be  sued  for  and  to  be  withheld; 
it  was  all  involved  in  the  glad  return  to 
the  breast  of  God. 

What  was  the  mystery,  then?  The  things 
that  I  had  wrought,  ignoble,  cruel,  base, 
mean,  selfish — had  I  ever  willed  to  do 
them?  It  seemed  impossible,  incredible. 
Were  those  grievous  things  still  growing, 
seeding,  flowering  in  other  lives  left  behind? 
Had  they  invaded,  corrupted,  hurt  other 
poor  wills  and  lives?  I  could  think  of 
them  no  longer,  any  more  than  I  could 
think  of  the  wrongs  done  to  myself.  Those 
had  not  hurt  me  either.      Perhaps  I  had 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn  9 

still  to  suffer,  but  I  could  not  think  of  that. 
I  was  too  much  overwhelmed  with  joy.  The 
whole  thing  seemed  so  infinitely  little  and 
far  away.  So  for  a  time  I  floated  on  the 
moving  crystal  of  the  translucent  sea,  over 
the  glimmering  deeps,  the  dawn  above  me, 
the  scenes  of  the  old  life  growing  and  shap- 
ing themselves  and  fading  without  any  will 
of  my  own,  nothing  within  or  without  me 
but  ineffable  peace  and  perfect  joy. 


II 


I  KNEW  quite  well  what  had  happened  to 
me ;  that  I  had  passed  through  what  mortals 
call  Death:  and  two  thoughts  came  to  me; 
one  was  this.  There  had  been  times  on 
earth  when  one  had  felt  sure  with  a  sort 
of  deep  instinct  that  one  could  not  really 
ever  die ;  yet  there  had  been  hours  of  weari- 
ness and  despair  when  one  had  wondered 
whether  death  would  not  mean  a  silent 
blankness.  That  thought  had  troubled  me 
most,  when  I  had  followed  to  the  grave 
some  friend  or  some  beloved.  The  moul- 
dering form,  shut  into  the  narrow  box,  was 
thrust  with  a  sense  of  shame  and  disgrace 
into  the  clay,  and  no  word  or  sign  returned 
to  show  that  the  spirit  lived  on,  or  that 
one  would  ever  find  that  dear  proximity 
again.     How  foolish  it  seemed  now  ever  to 

lO 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         ii 

have  doubted,  ever  to  have  been  troubled! 
Of  course  it  was  all  eternal  and  everlasting. 
And  then,  too,  came  a  second  thought.  One 
had  learned  in  life,  alas,  so  often  to  sepa- 
rate what  was  holy  and  sacred  from  daily 
life;  there  were  prayers,  liturgies,  religious 
exercises,  solemnities.  Sabbaths — an  oppres- 
sive strain,  too  often,  and  a  banishing  of 
active  life.  Brought  up  as  one  had  been, 
there  had  been  a  mournful  overshadowing 
of  thought,  that  after  death,  and  with  God, 
it  would  be  all  grave  and  constrained  and 
serious,  a  perpetual  liturgy,  an  unending 
Sabbath.  But  now  all  was  deliciously 
merged  together.  All  of  beautiful  and  gra- 
cious that  there  had  been  in  religion,  all 
of  joyful  and  animated  and  eager  that  there 
had  been  in  secular  life,  everything  that 
amused,  interested,  excited,  all  fine  pic- 
tures, great  poems,  lovely  scenes,  intrepid 
thoughts,  exercise,  work,  jests,  laughter, 
perceptions,  fancies — they  were  all  one 
now;  only  sorrow  and  weariness  and  dul- 
ness  and  ugliness  and  greediness  were  gone. 


12         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

The  thought  was  fresh,  pure,  delicate,  full 
of  a  great  and  mirthful  content. 

There  were  no  divisions  of  time  in  my 
great  peace;  past,  present,  and  future  were 
alike  all  merged.  How  can  I  explain  that? 
It  seems  so  impossible,  having  once  seen 
it,  that  it  should  be  otherwise.  The  day 
did  not  broaden  to  the  noon,  nor  fade  to 
evening.  There  was  no  night  there.  More 
than  that.  In  the  other  life,  the  dark  low- 
hung  days,  one  seemed  to  have  lived  so 
little,  and  always  to  have  been  making  ar- 
rangements to  live;  so  much  time  spent  in 
plans  and  schemes,  in  alterations  and  re- 
grets. There  was  this  to  be  done  and  that 
to  be  completed;  one  thing  to  be  begun, 
another  to  be  cleared  away;  always  in 
search  of  the  peace  which  one  never  found ; 
and  if  one  did  achieve  it,  then  it  was  sur- 
rounded, like  some  cast  carrion,  by  a  cloud 
of  poisonous  thoughts,  like  buzzing  blue- 
flies.  Now  at  last  one  lived  indeed;  but 
there  grew  up  in  the  soul,  very  gradually 
and  sweetly,  the  sense  that  one  was  resting, 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        13 

growing  accustomed  to  something,  learning 
the  ways  of  the  new  place.  I  became  more 
and  more  aware  that  I  was  not  alone;  it 
was  not  that  I  met,  or  encountered,  or  was 
definitely  conscious  of  any  thought  that  was 
not  my  own;  but  there  were  motions  as  of 
great  winds  in  the  untroubled  calm  in 
which  I  lay,  of  vast  deeps  drawing  past 
me.  There  w^ere  hoverings  and  poi sings  of 
unseen  creatures,  which  gave  me  neither 
awe  nor  surprise,  because  they  were  not  in 
the  range  of  my  thought  as  yet ;  but  it  was 
enough  to  show  me  that  I  was  not  alone, 
that  there  was  life  about  me,  purposes  going 
forward,  high  activities. 

The  first  time  I  experienced  anything 
more  definite  was  when  suddenly  I  became 
aware  of  a  great  crystalline  globe  that  rose 
like  a  bubble  out  of  the  sea.  It  was  of  an 
incredible  vastness;  but  I  was  conscious 
that  I  did  not  perceive  it  as  I  had  per- 
ceived things  upon  the  earth,  but  that  I 
apprehended  it  all  together,  within  and 
without.     It  rose  softly  and  swiftly  out  of 


14         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

the  expanse.  The  surface  of  it  was  all 
alive.  It  had  seas  and  continents,  hills  and 
valleys,  woods  and  fields,  like  our  own  earth. 
There  were  cities  and  houses  thronged  with 
living  beings;  it  was  a  world  like  our  own, 
and  yet  there  was  hardly  a  form  upon  it 
that  resembled  any  earthly  form,  though 
all  were  articulate  and  definite,  ranging 
from  growths  which  I  knew  to  be  vegetable, 
with  a  dumb  and  sightless  life  of  their  own, 
up  to  beings  of  intelligence  and  purpose. 
It  was  a  world,  in  fact,  on  which  a  history 
like  that  of  our  own  world  was  working 
itself  out ;  but  the  whole  was  of  a  crystalline 
texture,  if  texture  it  can  be  called;  there 
was  no  colour  or  solidity,  nothing  but  form 
and  silence,  and  I  realised  that  I  saw,  if 
not  materially  yet  in  thought,  and  recog- 
nised then,  that  all  the  qualities  of  matter, 
the  sounds,  the  colours,  the  scents — all  that 
depends  upon  material  vibration — were  ab- 
stracted from  it;  while  form,  of  which  the 
idea  exists  in  the  mind  apart  from  all  con- 
crete manifestations,  was  still  present.    For 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         15 

some  time  aft^r  that,  a  series  of  these  crys- 
talline globes  passed  through  the  atmos- 
phere where  I  dwelt,  some  near,  some  far; 
and  I  saw  in  an  instant,  in  each  case,  the 
life  and  history  of  each.  Some  were  still 
all  aflame,  mere  currents  of  molten  heat 
and  flying  vapour.  Some  had  the  first 
signs  of  rudimentary  life — some,  again,  had 
a  full  and  organised  life,  such  as  ours  on 
earth,  with  a  clash  of  nations,  a  stream 
of  commerce,  a  perfecting  of  knowledge. 
Others  were  growing  cold,  and  the  life 
upon  them  was  artificial  and  strange,  only 
achieved  by  a  highly  intellectual  and  noble 
race,  with  an  extraordinary  command  of 
natural  forces,  fighting  in  wonderfully  con- 
structed and  guarded  dwellings  against  the 
growing  deathliness  of  a  frozen  world,  and 
with  a  tortured  despair  in  their  minds  at 
the  extinction  which  threatened  them. 
There  were  others,  again,  which  were  frozen 
and  dead,  where  the  drifting  snow  piled 
itself  up  over  the  gigantic  and  pathetic  con- 
trivances of  a  race  living  underground,  with 


i6         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

huge  vents  and  chimneys,  burrowing  further 
into  the  earth  in  search  of  shelter,  and  nur- 
turing life  by  amazing  processes  which  I 
cannot  here  describe.  They  were  marvel- 
lously wise,  those  pale  and  shadowy  crea- 
tures, with  a  vitality  infinitely  ahead  of 
our  own,  a  vitality  out  of  which  all  weakly 
or  diseased  elements  had  long  been  elim- 
inated. And  again  there  were  globes 
upon  which  all  seemed  dead  and  frozen  to 
the  core,  slipping  onwards  in  some  infinite 
progress.  But  though  I  saw  life  under  a 
myriad  of  new  conditions,  and  with  an  end- 
less variety  of  forms,  the  nature  of  it  was 
the  same  as  ours.  There  was  the  same  ig- 
norance of  the  future,  the  same  doubts  and 
uncertainties,  the  same  pathetic  leaning  of 
heart  to  heart,  the  same  wistful  desire  after 
permanence  and  happiness,  which  could  not 
be  there  or  so  attained. 

Then,  too,  I  saw  wild  eddies  of  matter 
taking  shape,  of  a  subtlety  that  is  as  far 
beyond  any  known  earthly  conditions  of 
matter   as   steam    is   above   frozen    stone. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         17 

Great  tornadoes  whirled  and  poised ;  globes 
of  spinning  fire  flew  off  on  distant  errands 
of  their  own,  as  when  the  heavens  were 
made;  and  I  saw,  too,  the  crash  of  world 
with  world,  when  satellites  that  had  lost 
their  impetus  drooped  inwards  upon  some 
central  sun,  and  merged  themselves  at  last 
with  a  titanic  leap.  All  this  enacted  itself 
before  me,  while  life  itself  flew  like  a  pulse 
from  system  to  system,  never  diminished, 
never  increased,  withdrawn  from  one  to 
settle  on  another.    All  this  I  saw  and  knew. 


Ill 


I  THOUGHT  I  could  never  be  satiated  by  this 
infinite  procession  of  wonders.  But  at  last 
there  rose  in  my  mind,  like  a  rising  star, 
the  need  to  be  alone  no  longer.  I  was  pass- 
ing through  a  kind  of  heavenly  infancy; 
and  just  as  a  day  comes  when  a  child  puts 
out  a  hand  with  a  conscious  intention,  not 
merely  a  blind  groping,  but  with  a  need  to 
clasp  and  caress,  or  answers  a  smile  by  a 
smile,  a  word  by  a  purposeful  cry,  so  in 
a  moment  I  was  aware  of  some  one  with 
me  and  near  me,  with  a  heart  and  a  nature 
that  leaned  to  mine  and  had  need  of  me, 
as  I  of  him.  I  knew  him  to  be  one  who 
had  lived  as  I  had  lived,  on  the  earth  tliat 
was  ours, — lived  many  lives,  indeed;  and  it 
was  then  first  that  I  became  aware  that  I 
had  myself  lived  many  lives  too.  My  hu- 
man life,  which  I  had  last  left,  was  the 

l8 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         19 

fullest  and  clearest  of  all  my  existences; 
but  they  bad  been  many  and  various,  though 
always  progressive.  I  must  not  now  tell  of 
the  strange  life  histories  that  had  enfolded 
me — they  had  risen  in  dignity  and  worth 
from  a  life  far  back,  unimaginably  element- 
ary and  instinctive;  but  I  felt  in  a  moment 
that  my  new  friend's  life  had  been  far  richer 
and  more  perfect  than  my  own,  though  I 
saw  that  there  were  still  experiences  ahead 
of  both  of  us;  but  not  yet.  I  may  describe 
his  presence  in  human  similitudes,  a  pres- 
ence perfectly  defined,  though  apprehended 
with  no  human  sight.  He  bore  a  name 
which  described  something  clear,  strong, 
full  of  force,  and  yet  gentle  of  access,  like 
water.  It  was  just  that;  a  thing  perfectly 
pure  and  pervading,  which  could  be  stained 
and  troubled,  and  yet  could  retain  no  de- 
filement or  agitation;  which  a  child  could 
scatter  and  divide,  and  yet  was  absolutely 
powerful  and  insuperable.  I  will  call  him 
Amroth.  Him,  I  say,  because  though  there 
was  no  thought  of  sex  left  in  my  conscious- 


20         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

ness,  his  was  a  courageous,  inventive, 
masterful  spirit,  which  gave  rather  than 
received,  and  was  withal  of  a  perfect  kind- 
ness and  directness,  love  undefiled  and 
strong.  The  moment  I  became  aware  of 
his  presence,  I  felt  him  to  be  like  one  of 
those  wonderful,  pure  youths  of  an  Italian 
picture,  whose  whole  mind  is  set  on  manful 
things,  untroubled  by  the  love  of  woman, 
and  yet  finding  all  the  world  intensely  gra- 
cious and  beautiful,  full  of  eager  frankness, 
even  impatience,  with  long,  slim,  straight 
limbs  and  close-curled  hair.  I  knew  him  to 
be  the  sort  of  being  that  painters  and  poets 
had  been  feeling  after  when  they  repre- 
sented or  spoke  of  angels.  And  I  could 
not  help  laughing  outright  at  the  thought 
of  the  meek,  mild,  statuesque  draped 
figures,  with  absurd  wings  and  depressing 
smiles,  that  encumbered  pictures  and 
churches,  with  whom  no  human  communica- 
tion would  be  possible,  and  whose  grave 
and  discomfiting  glance  would  be  fatal 
to    all    ease   or   merriment.     I    recognised 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        21 

in  Amroth  a  mirthful  soul,  full  of 
humour  and  laughter,  who  could  not  be 
shocked  by  any  truth,  or  hold  anything  un- 
comfortably sacred — though  indeed  he  held 
all  things  sacred  with  a  kind  of  eagerness 
that  charmed  me.  Instead  of  meeting  him 
in  dolorous  pietistic  mood,  I  met  him,  I  re- 
member, as  at  school  or  college  one  sud- 
denly met  a  frank,  smiling,  high-spirited 
youth  or  boy,  who  was  ready  at  once  to 
take  comradeship  for  granted,  and  walked 
away  with  one  from  a  gathering,  with  an 
outrush  of  talk  and  plans  for  further  meet- 
ings. It  was  all  so  utterly  unlike  the  sub- 
dued and  cautious  and  sensitive  atmosphere 
of  devotion  that  it  stirred  us  both,  I  was 
aware,  to  a  delicious  kind  of  laughter.  And 
then  came  a  swift  interchange  of  thought, 
which  I  must  try  to  represent  by  speech, 
though  speech  was  none. 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you,  Amroth,"  I 
said.  "  I  was  just  beginning  to  wonder  if 
I  was  not  going  to  be  lonely.'- 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  *^  one  has  what  one  desires 


22         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

here;  you  had  too  much  to  see  and  learn 
at  first  to  want  my  company.  And  yet  I 
have  been  with  you,  pointing  out  a  thousand 
things,  ever  since  you  came  here." 

"  Was  it  you,''  I  said,  "  that  have  been 
showing  me  all  this?  I  thought  I  was 
alone." 

At  which  Amroth  laughed  again,  a  laugh 
full  of  content.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  the  crags 
and  the  sunset — do  you  not  remember?  I 
came  down  with  you,  carrying  you  like  a 
child  in  my  arms,  while  you  slept ;  and  then 
I  saw  you  awake.  You  had  to  rest  a  long 
time  at  first;  you  had  had  much  to  bear — 
uncertainty — that  is  what  tires  one,  even 
more  than  pain.  And  I  have  been  telling 
you  things  ever  since,  when  you  could 
listen." 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  "  I  have  a  hundred  things 
to  ask  you ;  how  strange  it  is  to  see  so  much 
and  understand  so  little !  " 

"  Ask  away,"  said  Amroth,  putting  an 
arm  through  mine. 

"  I  was  afraid,"  I  said,  "  that  it  would 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        23 

all  be  so  different — like  a  catechism  ^  Dost 
thou  believe — is  this  thy  desire? '  But  in- 
stead it  seems  so  entirely  natural  and 
simple ! " 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  that  is  how  we  bewilder 
ourselves  on  earth.  Why,  it  is  hard  to  say ! 
But  all  the  real  things  remain.  It  is  all 
just  as  surprising  and  interesting  and 
amusing  and  curious  as  it  ever  was:  the 
only  things  that  are  gone — for  a  time,  that 
is — are  the  things  that  are  ugly  and  sad. 
But  they  are  useful  too  in  their  way,  though 
you  have  no  need  to  think  of  them  now. 
Those  are  just  the  discipline,  the  training.'' 

"But,"  I  said,  "what  makes  people  so 
different  from  each  other  down  there — so 
many  people  who  are  sordid,  grubby, 
quarrelsome,  cruel,  selfish,  spiteful?  Only 
a  few  who  are  bold  and  kind — like  you, 
for  instance?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  answering  the  thought 
that  rose  in  my  mind,  "  of  course  I  don't 
mind — I  like  compliments  as  well  as  ever, 
if  they  come  naturally !     But  don't  you  see 


24         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

that  all  the  little  poky,  sensual,  mean,  dis- 
gusting lives  are  simply  those  of  spirits 
struggling  to  be  free;  we  begin  by  being 
enchained  by  matter  at  first,  and  then  the 
stream  runs  clearer.  The  divine  things  are 
imagination  and  sympathy.  That  is  the 
secret." 


IV 


Once  I  said: 

"  Which  kind  of  people  do  you  find  it 
hardest  to  help  along?  " 

"  The  young  people,"  said  Amroth,  with 
a  smile. 

"  Youth !  "  I  said.  "  Why,  down  below, 
we  think  of  youth  as  being  so  generous  and 
ardent  and  imitative!  We  speak  of  youth 
as  the  time  to  learn,  and  form  fine  habits; 
if  a  man  is  wilful  and  selfish  in  after-life, 
we  say  that  it  was  because  he  was  too  much 
indulged  in  childhood — and  we  attach  great 
importance  to  the  impressions  of  youth." 

"  That  is  quite  right,"  said  Amroth,  "  be- 
cause the  impressions  of  youth  are  swift  and 
keen ;  but  of  course,  here,  age  is  not  a  ques- 
tion of  years  or  failing  powers.  The  old, 
here,  are  the  wise  and  gracious  and  patient 
and  gentle;  the  youth  of  the  spirit  is  stu- 
25 


26         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

pidity  and  unimaginativeness.  On  the  one 
hand  are  the  stolid  and  placid,  and  on  the 
other  are  the  brutal  and  cruel  and  selfish 
and  unrestrained." 

"  You  confuse  me  greatly,"  I  said ; 
"  surely  you  do  not  mean  that  spiritual  life 
and  progress  are  a  matter  of  intellectual 
energy?  " 

"  No,  not  at  all,"  said  he;  "  the  so-called 
intellectual  people  are  often  the  most  stupid 
and  youngest  of  all.  The  intellect  counts 
for  nothing :  that  is  only  a  kind  of  dexterity, 
a  pretty  game.  The  imagination  is  what 
matters." 

"  Worse  and  worse !  "  I  said.  "  Does  sal- 
vation belong  to  poets  and  novelists?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Amroth,  "  that  is  a  game 
too!  The  imagination  I  speak  of  is  the 
power  of  entering  into  other  people's  minds 
and  hearts,  of  putting  yourself  in  their 
place — of  loving  them,  in  fact.  The  more 
^ou  know  of  people,  the  better  chance  there 
is  of  loving  them;  and  you  can  only  find 
your  way  into  their  minds  by  imaginative 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         27 

sympathy.  I  will  tell  you  a  story  which 
will  show  you  what  I  mean.  There  was 
once  a  famous  writer  on  earth,  of  whose 
wisdom  people  spoke  with  bated  breath. 
Men  went  to  see  him  with  fear  and  rever- 
ence, and  came  away,  saying,  '  How  won- 
derful I'  And  this  man,  in  his  age,  was 
waited  upon  by  a  little  maid,  an  ugly,  tired, 
tiny  creature.  People  used  to  say  that  they 
w^ondered  he  had  not  a  better  servant.  But 
she  knew  all  that  he  liked  and  wanted, 
where  his  books  and  papers  were,  what  was 
good  for  him  to  do.  She  did  not  under- 
stand a  word  of  what  he  said,  but  she  knew 
both  w^hen  he  had  talked  too  much,  and 
when  he  had  not  talked  enough,  so  that  his 
mind  was  pent  up  in  itself,  and  he  became 
cross  and  fractious.  Now,  in  reality,  the 
little  maid  was  one  of  the  oldest  and  most 
beautiful  of  spirits.  She  had  lived  many 
lives,  each  apparently  humbler  than  the  last. 
She  never  grumbled  about  her  work,  or 
wanted  to  amuse  herself.  She  loved  the 
silly  flies  that  darted  about  her  kitchen,  or 


28         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

brushed  their  black  heads  on  the  ceiling; 
she  loved  the  ivy  tendrils  that  tapped  on 
her  window  in  the  breeze.  She  did  not  go 
to  church,  she  had  no  time  for  that;  or  if 
she  had  gone,  she  would  not  have  under- 
stood what  was  said,  though  she  would  have 
loved  all  the  people  there,  and  noticed  how 
they  looked  and  sang.  But  the  wise  man 
himself  was  one  of  the  youngest  and  stupid- 
est of  spirits,  so  young  and  stupid  that  he 
had  to  have  a  very  old  and  wise  spirit  to 
look  after  him.  He  was  eaten  up  with 
ideas  and  vanity,  so  that  he  had  no  time 
to  look  at  any  one  or  think  of  anybody, 
unless  they  praised  him.  He  has  a  very 
long  pilgrimage  before  him,  though  he  w^rote 
pretty  songs  enough,  and  his  mortal  body, 
or  one  of  them,  lies  in  the  Poets'  Corner  of 
the  Abbey,  and  people  come  and  put  wreaths 
there  with  tears  in  their  eyes." 

"  It  is  very  bewildering,"  I  said,  "  but  I 
see  a  little  more  than  I  did.  It  is  all  a 
matter  of  feeling,  then?  But  it  seems  hard 
on  people  that  they  should  be  so  dull  and 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         29 

stupid  about  it  all, — that  the  truth  should 
lie  so  close  to  their  hand  and  yet  be  so 
carefully  concealed." 

"  Oh,  they  grow  out  of  dulness !  "  he  said, 
with  a  movement  of  his  hand ;  "  that  is  wnat 
experience  does  for  us — it  is  always  going 
on;  we  get  widened  and  deepened.  Why," 
he  added,  "  I  have  seen  a  great  man,  as 
they  called  him,  clever  and  alert,  who  held 
a  high  position  in  the  State.  He  was  laid 
aside  by  a  long  and  painful  illness,  so  that 
all  his  work  was  put  away.  He  was  brave 
about  it,  too,  I  remember;  but  he  used  to 
think  to  himself  how  sad  and  wasteful  it 
was,  that  when  he  was  most  energetic  and 
capable  he  should  be  put  on  the  shelf — 
all  the  fine  work  he  might  have  done  inter- 
rupted ;  all  the  great  speeches  he  would  have 
made  unuttered.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  was  then  for  the  first  time  growing  fast, 
because  he  had  to  look  into  the  minds  and 
hearts  of  all  sorrowful  and  disappointed 
people,  and  to  learn  that  what  we  do  mat- 
ters so  little,  and  that  what  we  are  matters  1\ 


30         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

so  much.  When  he  did  at  last  get  back 
to  the  world,  people  said,  *  What  a  sad 
pity  to  see  so  fine  a  career  spoilt ! '  But 
out  of  all  the  years  of  all  his  lives,  those 
years  had  been  his  very  best  and  richest, 
when  he  sat  half  the  day  feeble  in  the  sun, 
and  could  not  even  look  at  the  papers  which 
lay  beside  him,  or  w^hen  he  woke  in  the  grey 
mornings,  with  the  thought  of  another  mis- 
erable day  of  idleness  and  pain  before  him.'' 

I  said,  "  Then  is  it  a  bad  thing  to  be 
busy  in  the  world,  because  it  takes  off  your 
mind  from  the  things  which  matter?" 

"  No,"  said  Amroth,  "  not  a  bad  thing  at 
all :  because  two  things  are  going  on. 
Partly  the  framework  of  society  and  life  is 
being  made,  so  that  men  are  not  ground 
down  into  that  sordid  struggle,  when  little 
experience  is  possible  because  of  the  drudg- 
ery which  clouds  all  tlie  mind.  Though 
even  that  has  its  opportunities!  And  all 
depends,  for  the  individual,  upon  how  he 
is  doing  his  work.  If  he  has  other  people 
in  mind  all  the  time,  and  does  his  work  for 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         31 

them,  and  not  to  be  praised  for  it,  then  all 
is  well.  But  if  he  is  thinking  of  his  credit 
and  his  position,  then  he  does  not  grow  at 
all;  that  is  pomposity — a  very  youthful 
thing  indeed;  but  the  worst  case  of  all  is 
if  a  man  sees  that  the  world  must  be  helped 
and  made,  and  that  one  can  win  credit  thus, 
and  so  engages  in  work  of  that  kind,  and 
deals  in  all  the  jargon  of  it,  about  using 
influence  and  living  for  others,  when  he  is 
really  thinking  of  himself  all  the  time,  and 
trying  to  keep  the  eyes  of  the  world  upon 
him.  But  it  is  all  growth  really,  though 
sometimes,  as  on  the  beach  when  the  tide 
is  coming  in,  the  waves  seem  to  draw  back- 
ward from  the  land,  and  poise  themselves 
in  a  crest  of  troubled  water." 

"  But  is  a  great  position  in  the  world," 
I  said,  "whether  inherited  or  attained,  a 
dangerous  thing?  " 

"  Nothing  is  dangerous^  child,"  he  said. 
"  You  must  put  all  that  out  of  your  mind. 
But  men  in  high  posts  and  stations  are 
often  not  progressing  evenly,  only  in  great 


32         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

jogs  and  starts.  They  learn  very  often, 
with  a  sudden  surprise,  which  is  not  always 
painful,  and  sometimes  is  very  beautiful  and 
sweet,  that  all  the  ceremony  and  pomp,  the 
great  house,  the  bows  and  the  smiles,  mean 
nothing  at  all — absolutely  nothing,  except 
the  chance,  the  opportunity  of  not  being 
taken  in  by  them.  That  is  the  use  of  all 
pleasures  and  all  satisfactions — the  frame 
of  mind  which  made  the  old  king  say,  ^  Is 
not  this  great  Babylon,  which  I  have 
builded? ' — they  are  nothing  but  the  work 
of  another  class  in  the  great  school  of  life. 
A  great  many  people  are  put  to  school  with 
self-satisfaction,  that  they  may  know  the 
fine  joy  of  humiliation,  the  delight  of  learn- 
ing that  it  is  not  effectiveness  and  applause 
that  matters,  but  love  and  peacefulness. 
And  the  great  thing  is  that  we  should  feel 
that  we  are  growing,  not  in  hardness  or 
indifference,  nor  necessarily  even  in  courage 
or  patience,  but  in  our  power  to  feel  and 
our  power  to  suffer.  As  love  multiplies, 
suffering    must    multiply    too.     The    very 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         33 

Heart  of  God  is  full  of  infinite,  joyful,  hope- 
ful suffering;  the  whole  thing  is  so  vast, 
so  slow,  so  quiet,  that  the  end  of  suffering 
is  yet  far  off.  But  when  we  suffer,  we  climb 
fast;  the  spirit  grows  old  and  wise  in  faith 
and  love;  and  suffering  is  the  one  thing  we 
cannot  dispense  with,  because  it  is  the  con- 
dition of  our  fullest  and  purest  life." 


I  SAID  suddenly,  "  The  joy  of  this  place  is 
not  the  security  of  it,  but  the  fact  that  one 
has  not  to  think  about  security.  I  am  not 
afraid  of  anything  that  may  happen,  and 
there  is  no  weariness  of  thought.  One  does 
not  think  till  one  is  tired,  but  till  one  has 
finished  thinking." 

"  Yes,"  said  Amroth,  "  that  was  the 
misery  of  the  poor  body !  " 

"  And  yet  I  used  to  think,"  I  said,  "  in 
the  old  days  that  I  was  grateful  to  the  body 
for  many  pleasant  things  it  gave  me — 
breathing  the  air,  feeling  the  sun,  eating 
and  drinking,  games  and  exercise,  and  the 
strange  thing  one  called  love." 

"  Yes,"  said  Amroth,  "  all  those  things 
have  to  be  made  pleasant,  or  to  appear  so; 
otherwise  no  one  could  submit  to  the  dis- 
cipline at  all;  but  of  course  the  pleasure 
34 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        35 

only  got  in  the  way  of  the  thought  and  of 
the  happiness;  it  was  not  what  one  saw, 
tasted,  smelt,  felt,  that  one  desired,  but 
the  real  thing  behind  it;  even  the  purest 
thing  of  all,  the  sight  and  contact  of  one 
w^hom  one  loved,  let  us  say,  with  no  sensual 
passion  at  all,  but  with  a  perfectly  pure 
love;  what  a  torment  that  was — desiring 
something  which  one  could  not  get,  the  real 
fusion  of  feeling  and  thought!  But  the 
poor  body  was  always  in  the  way  then, 
saying,  '  Here  am  I — please  me,  amuse 
me.' " 

"  But  then,"  I  said,  "  what  is  the  use  of 
all  that?  Why  should  the  pure,  clear,  joy- 
ful, sleepless  life  I  now  feel  be  tainted  and 
hampered  and  drugged  by  the  body?  I 
don-t  feel  that  I  am  losing  anything  by 
losing  the  body.'' 

"  No,  not  losing,"  said  Amroth,  "  but, 
happy  though  you  are,  you  are  not  gaining 
things  as  fast  now — it  is  your  time  of  rest 
and  refreshment — but  we  shall  go  back, 
both  of  us,  to  the  other  life  again,  w^hen 


36         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

the  time  comes :  and  the  point  is  this,  that 
we  have  got  to  win  the  best  things  through 
trouble  and  struggle." 

"  But  even  so,"  I  said,  "  there  are  many 
things  I  do  not  understand — the  child  that 
opens  its  eyes  upon  the  world  and  closes 
them  again ;  the  young  child  that  suffers  and 
dies,  just  when  it  is  the  darling  of  the  home; 
and  at  the  other  end  of  the  scale,  the  help- 
less, fractious  invalid,  or  the  old  man  who 
lives  in  weariness,  wakeful  and  tortured, 
and  who  is  glad  just  to  sit  in  the  sun,  in- 
different to  every  one  and  everything,  past 
feeling  and  hoping  and  thinking — or,  worst 
of  all,  the  people  with  diseased  minds,  whose 
pain  makes  them  suspicious  and  malignant. 
What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  pain,  which 
seems  to  do  people  nothing  but  harm,  and 
makes  them  a  burden  to  themselves  and 
others  too?" 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  it  is  difficult  enough ;  but 
you  must  remember  that  we  are  all  bound 
up  with  the  hearts  and  lives  of  others;  the 
child  that  dies  in   its  helplessness  has  a 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         37 

meaning  for  its  parents ;  the  child  that  lives 
long  enough  to  be  the  light  of  its  home,  that 
has  a  significance  deep  enough;  and  all 
those  who  have  to  tend  and  care  for  the 
sick,  to  lighten  the  burden  and  the  sorrow 
for  them,  that  has  a  meaning  surely  for  all 
concerned?  The  reason  why  we  feel  as  we 
do  about  broken  lives,  why  they  seem  so 
utterly  purposeless,  is  because  we  have  the 
proportion  so  wrong.  We  do  not  really,  in 
fact,  believe  in  immortality,  when  we  are 
bound  in  the  body — some  few  of  us  do,  and 
many  of  us  say  that  we  do.  But  we  do  not 
realise  that  the  little  life  is  but  one  in  a 
great  chain  of  lives,  that  each  spirit  lives 
many  times,  over  and  over.  There  is  no 
such  thing  as  waste  or  sacrifice  of  life.  The 
life  is  meant  to  do  just  what  it  does,  no 
more  and  no  less;  bound  in  the  body,  it 
all  seems  so  long  or  so  short,  so  com- 
plete or  so  incomplete;  but  now  and  here 
we  can  see  that  the  whole  thing  is  so 
endless,  so  immense,  that  we  think  no 
more    of    entering    life,    say,    for    a    few 


38         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

days,  or  entering  it  for  ninety  years, 
than  we  should  think  of  counting  one  or 
ninety  water-drops  in  the  river  that  pours 
in  a  cataract  over  the  lip  of  the  rocks. 
Where  we  do  lose,  in  life,  is  in  not  taking 
the  particular  experience,  be  it  small  or 
great,  to  heart.  We  try  to  forget  things,  to 
put  them  out  of  our  minds,  to  banish  them. 
Of  course  it  is  very  hard  to  do  otherwise, 
in  a  body  so  finite,  tossed  and  whirled  in 
a  stream  so  infinite;  and  thus  we  are  hap- 
piest if  we  can  live  very  simply  and  quietly, 
not  straining  to  multiply  our  uneasy  ac- 
tivities, but  just  getting  the  most  and  the 
best  out  of  the  elements  of  life  as  they  come 
to  us.  As  we  get  older  in  spirit,  w^e  do 
that  naturally;  the  things  that  men  call 
ambitions  and  schemes  are  the  signs  of  im- 
maturity; and  when  we  grow  older,  those 
slip  off  us  and  concern  us  no  more;  while 
the  real  vitality  of  feeling  and  emotion  runs 
ever  more  clear  and  strong.'* 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  can  one  revive  the  old 
lives  at  will?     Can  one  look  back  into  the 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         39 

long  range  of  previous  lives?  Is  that 
permitted?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course  it  is  permitted,"  said 
Amroth,  smiling;  "  there  are  no  rules  here; 
but  one  does  not  care  to  do  it  overmuch. 
One  is  just  glad  it  is  all  done,  and  that  one 
has  learnt  the  lesson.  Look  back  if  you 
like — there  are  all  the  lives  behind  you." 

I  had  a  curious  sensation — I  saw  myself 
suddenly  a  stalwart  savage,  strangely  at- 
tired for  war,  near  a  hut  in  a  forest  clear- 
ing. I  was  going  away  somewhere;  there 
were  other  huts  at  hand;  there  was  a  fire, 
in  the  side  of  a  mound,  where  some  women 
seemed  to  be  cooking  something  and  wrang- 
ling over  it;  the  smoke  went  up  into  the 
still  air.  A  child  came  out  of  the  hut,  and 
ran  to  me.  I  bent  down  and  kissed  it,  and 
it  clung  to  me.  I  was  sorry,  in  a  dim  way, 
to  be  going  out — for  I  saw  other  figures 
armed  too,  standing  about  the  clearing. 
There  was  to  be  fighting  that  day,  and 
though  I  wished  to  fight,  I  thought  I  might 
not  return.     But  the  mind  of  myself,  as  I 


40        The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

discerned  it,  was  full  of  hurtful,  cruel, 
rapacious  thoughts,  and  I  was  sad  to  think 
that  this  could  ever  have  been  I. 

"  It  is  not  very  nice,"  said  Amroth  with 
a  smile;  "  one  does  not  care  to  revive  that! 
You  were  young  then,  and  had  much  before 
you." 

Another  picture  flashed  into  the  mind. 
Was  it  true?  I  was  a  woman,  it  seemed, 
looking  out  of  a  window  on  the  street  in 
a  town  with  high,  dark  houses,  strongly 
built  of  stone :  there  was  a  towered  gate  at 
a  little  distance,  with  some  figures  drawing 
up  sacks  with  a  pulley  to  a  door  in  the 
gate.  A  man  came  up  behind  me,  pulled 
me  roughly  back,  and  spoke  angrily;  I  an- 
swered him  fiercely  and  shrilly.  The  room 
I  was  in  seemed  to  be  a  shop  or  store ;  there 
were  barrels  of  wine,  and  bags  of  corn.  I 
felt  that  I  was  busy  and  anxious — it  was 
not  a  pleasant  retrospect. 

"  Yet  you  were  better  then,"  said  Am- 
roth ;  "  you  thought  little  of  your  drudgery, 
and  much  of  your  children." 

Yes,  I  had  had  children,  I  saw.     Their 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         41 

names  and  appearance  floated  before  me. 
I  had  loved  them  tenderly.  Had  they  passed 
out  of  my  life?    I  felt  bewildered. 

Amroth  laid  a  hand  on  my  arm  and  smiled 
again.  "  No,  you  came  near  to  some  of 
them  again.  Do  you  not  remember  another 
life  in  which  you  loved  a  friend  with  a 
strange  love,  that  surprised  you  by  its  near- 
ness? He  had  been  your  child  long  before; 
and  one  never  quite  loses  that." 

I  saw  in  a  flash  the  other  life  he  spoke 
of.  I  was  a  student,  it  seemed,  at  some 
university,  where  there  was  a  boy  of  my 
own  age,  a  curious,  wilful,  perverse,  tact- 
less creature,  always  saying  and  doing  the 
wrong  thing,  for  whom  I  had  felt  a  curious 
and  unreasonable  responsibility.  I  had  al- 
ways tried  to  explain  him  to  other  people, 
to  justify  him;  and  he  had  turned  to  me 
for  help  and  companionship  in  a  singular 
way.  I  saw  myself  walking  with  him  in 
the  country,  expostulating,  gesticulating; 
and  I  saw  him  angry  and  perplexed.  .  .  . 
The  vision  vanished. 

"  But  what  becomes  of  all  those  whom 


H 


42         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

we  have  loved?"  I  said;  "it  cannot  be  as 
if  we  had  never  loved  them." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Amroth,  "  they  are  all 
there  or  here ;  but  there  lies  one  of  the  great 
mysteries  which  we  cannot  yet  attain  to. 
We  shall  be  all  brought  together  some  time, 
closely  and  perfectly;  but  even  now,  in  the 
world  of  matter,  the  spirit  half  remembers ; 
and  when  one  is  strangely  and  lovingly 
drawn  to  another  soul,  when  that  love  is 
not  of  the  body,  and  has  nothing  of  pas- 
sion in  it,  then  it  is  some  close  ancient  tie 
reasserting  itself.  Do  you  not  know  how 
old  and  remote  some  of  our  friendships 
seemed — so  much  older  and  larger  than 
could  be  accounted  for  by  the  brief  days 
of  companionship?  That  strange  hunger 
for  the  past  of  one  we  love  is  nothing  but 
the  faint  memory  of  what  has  been.  In- 
deed, when  you  have  rested  happily  a  little 
longer,  you  will  move  farther  afield,  and 
you  will  come  near  to  spirits  you  have 
loved.  You  cannot  bear  it  yet,  though  they 
are  all   about  you;   but  one  regains   the 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        43 

spiritual  sense  slowly  after  a  life  like 
yours." 

"  Can  I  revisit,"  I  said,  "  the  scene  of  my 
last  life — see  and  know  what  those  I  loved 
are  doing  and  feeling?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Amroth ;  "  that  would 
not  profit  either  you  or  them.  The  sorrow 
of  earth  would  not  be  sorrow,  it  would  have 
no  cleansing  power,  if  the  parted  spirit 
could  return  at  once.  You  do  not  guess, 
either,  how  much  of  time  has  passed  already 
since  you  came  here — it  seems  to  you  like 
yesterday,  no  doubt,  since  you  last  suffered 
death.  To  meet  loss  and  sorrow  upon  earth, 
without  either  comfort  or  hope,  is  one  of 
the  finest  of  lessons.  When  we  are  there,  we 
must  live  blindly,  and  if  we  here  could 
make  our  presence  known  at  once  to  the 
friends  we  leave  behind,  it  would  be  all  too 
easy.  It  is  in  the  silence  of  death  that  its 
virtue  lies." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  do  not  desire  to  return. 
This  is  all  too  wonderful.  It  is  the  fresh- 
ness and  sweetness  of  it  all  that  comes  home 


44         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

to  me.  I  do  not  desire  to  think  of  the  body, 
and,  strange  to  say,  if  I  do  think  of  it,  the 
times  that  I  remember  gratefully  are  those 
when  the  body  was  faint  and  weary.  The 
old  joys  and  triumphs,  when  one  laughed 
and  loved  and  exulted,  seem  to  me  to  have 
something  ugly  about  them,  because  one  was 
content,  and  wished  things  to  remain  for 
ever  as  they  were.  It  was  the  longing  for 
something  different  that  helped  me;  the 
acquiescence  was  the  shame." 


VI 


One  day  I  said  to  Amroth,  "  What  a  com- 
fort it  is  to  find  that  there  is  bo  religion 
here ! " 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said.  "  I 
think  it  is  one  of  the  things  that  one  won- 
ders at  most,  to  remember  into  how  very 
small  and  narrow  a  thing  religion  was  made, 
and  how  much  that  was  religious  was  never 
supposed  to  be  so." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  as  I  think  of  it  now,  it 
seems  to  have  been  a  game  played  by  a 
few  players,  a  game  with  a  great  many 
rules." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "it  was  a  game  often 
enough;  but  of  course  the  mischief  of  it 
was,  that  when  it  was  most  a  game  it  most 
pretended  to  be  something  else — to  contain 
the  secret  of  life  and  all  knowledge." 

45 


46         Tlie  Child  of  the  Dawn 

"  I  used  to  think,"  I  said,  "  that  religion 
was  like  a  noble  and  generous  boy  with  the 
lyrical  heart  of  a  poet,  made  by  some  sad 
chance  into  a  king,  surrounded  by  obisequi- 
ous  respect  and  pomp  and  etiquette,  bound 
by  a  hundred  ceremonious  rules,  forbidden 
to  do  this  and  that,  taught  to  think  that 
his  one  duty  was  to  be  magnificently  at- 
tired, to  acquire  graceful  arts  of  posture 
and  courtesy,  subtly  and  gently  prevented 
from  obeying  natural  and  simple  impulses, 
made  powerless — a  crowned  slave;  so  that, 
instead  of  being  the  freest  and  sincerest 
thing  in  the  world,  it  became  the  prisoner 
of  respectability  and  convention,  just  a  part 
of  the  social  machine." 

"  That  was  only  one  side  of  it,"  said 
Amroth.  "  It  was  often  where  it  was  least 
supposed  to  be." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  as  far  as  I  resent  any- 
thing now,  I  resent  the  conversion  of  so 
much  religion  from  an  inspiring  force  into 
a  repressive  force.  One  learnt  as  a  child 
to  think  of  it,  not  as  a  great  moving  flood 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         47 

of  energy  and  joy,  but  as  an  awful  power 
apart  from  life,  rejoicing  in  petty  restric- 
tions, and  mainly  concerned  with  creating 
an  unreal  atmosphere  of  narrow  piety, 
hostile  to  natural  talk  and  laughter  and 
freedom.  God's  aid  was  invoked,  in  child- 
hood, mostly  when  one  was  naughty  and 
disobedient,  so  that  one  grew  to  think  of 
Him  as  grim,  severe,  irritable,  anxious  to 
interfere.  What  wonder  that  one  lost  all 
wish  to  meet  God  and  all  natural  desire  to 
know  Him!  One  thought  of  Him  as  im- 
possible to  please  except  by  behaving  in  a 
way  in  which  it  was  not  natural  to  behave; 
and  one  thought  of  religion  as  a  stern  and 
dreadful  process  going  on  somewhere,  like 
a  law-court  or  a  prison,  which  one  had  to 
keep  clear  of  if  one  could.  Yet  I  hardly 
see  how,  in  the  interests  of  discipline,  it 
could  have  been  avoided.  If  only  one  could 
have  begun  at  the  other  end ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Amroth,  "  but  that  is  because 
religion  has  fallen  so  much  into  the  hands 
of  the  wrong  people,  and  is  grievously  mis- 


48         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

represented.  It  has  too  often  come  to  be 
identified,  as  you  say,  with  human  law,  as 
a  power  which  leaves  one  severely  alone,  if 
one  behaves  oneself,  and  which  punishes 
harshly  and  mechanically  if  one  outsteps 
the  limit.  It  comes  into  the  world  as  a 
great  joyful  motive;  and  then  it  becomes 
identified  with  respectability,  and  it  is  sad 
to  think  that  it  is  simply  from  the  fact  that 
it  has  won  the  confidence  of  the  world  that 
it  gains  its  awful  power  of  silencing  and 
oppressing.  It  becomes  hostile  to  frankness 
and  independence,  and  puts  a  premium  on 
caution  and  submissiveness ;  but  that  is  the 
misuse  of  it  and  the  degradation  of  it;  and 
religion  is  still  the  most  pure  and  beautiful 
thing  in  the  world  for  all  that;  the  doctrine 
itself  is  fine  and  true  in  a  way,  if  one  can 
view  it  without  impatience;  it  upholds  the 
right  things ;  it  all  makes  for  peace  and  order, 
and  even  for  humility  and  just  kindliness; 
it  insists,  or  tries  to  insist,  on  the  fact  that 
property  and  position  and  material  things 
do  not  matter,  and  that  quality  and  method 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        49 

do  matter.  Of  course  it  is  terribly  dis- 
torted, and  gets  into  the  hands  of  the  wrong 
people — the  people  who  want  to  keep  things 
as  they  are.  Now  the  Gospel,  as  it  first 
came,  was  a  perfectly  beautiful  thing — the 
idea  that  one  must  act  by  tender  impulse, 
that  one  must  always  forgive,  and  forget, 
and  love;  that  one  must  take  a  natural  joy 
in  the  simplest  things,  find  every  one  and 
everything  interesting  and  delightful  .  .  . 
the  perfectly  natural,  just,  good-humoured, 
uncalculating  life — that  was  the  idea  of  it; 
and  that  one  was  not  to  be  superior  to 
the  hard  facts  of  the  world,  not  to  try  to 
put  sorrow  or  pain  out  of  sight,  but  to  live 
eagerly  and  hopefully  in  them  and  through 
them ;  not  to  try  to  school  oneself  into  hard- 
ness or  indifference,  but  to  love  lovable 
things,  and  not  to  condemn  or  despise  the 
unlovable.  That  was  indeed  a  message  out 
of  the  very  heart  of  God.  But  of  course  all 
the  acrid  divisions  and  subdivisions  of  it 
come,  not  from  itself,  but  from  the  material 
part  of  the  world,  that  determines  to  traffic 


50         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

with  the  beautiful  secret,  and  make  it  serve 
its  turn.  But  there  are  plenty  of  true 
souls  within  it  all,  true  teachers,  faithful 
learners — and  the  world  cannot  do  without 
it  yet,  though  it  is  strangely  fettered  and 
bound.  Indeed,  men  can  never  do  without 
it,  because  the  spiritual  force  is  there;  it 
is  full  of  poetry  and  mystery,  that  ageless 
brotherhood  of  saints  and  true-hearted  dis- 
ciples ;  but  one  has  to  learn  that  many  that 
claim  its  powers  have  them  not,  while  many 
who  are  outside  all  organisations  have  the 
secret." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  all  that  is  true  and  good ; 
it  is  the  exclusive  claim  and  not  the  in- 
clusive which  one  regrets.  It  is  the  voice 
which  says,  *  Accept  my  exact  faith,  or  you 
have  no  part  in  the  inheritance,'  which  is 
wrong.  The  real  voice  of  religion  is  that 
which  says,  '  You  are  my  brother  and  my 
sister,  though  you  know  it  not.'  And  if 
one  says,  '  We  are  all  at  fault,  we  are  all 
far  from  the  truth,  but  we  live  as  best  we 
can,  looking  for  the  larger  hope  and  for 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        51 

the  dawn  of  love/  that  is  the  secret.  The 
sacrament  of  God  is  offered  and  eaten  at 
many  a  social  meal,  and  the  Spirit  of  Love 
finds  utterance  in  quiet  words  from  smiling 
lips.  One  cannot  teach  by  harsh  precept, 
only  by  desirable  example;  and  the  worst 
of  the  correct  profession  of  religion  is  that 
it  is  often  little  more  than  taking  out  a 
licence  to  disapprove." 

"Yes,"  said  Amroth,  "you  are  very  near 
a  great  truth.  The  mistake  we  make  is 
like  the  mistake  so  often  made  on  earth  in 
matters  of  human  government^ — the  oppos- 
ing of  the  individual  to  the  State,  as  if  the 
State  were  something  above  and  different 
to  the  individual — like  the  old  thought  of 
the  Spirit  moving  on  the  face  of  the  waters. 
The  individual  is  the  State;  and  it  is  the 
same  with  the  soul  and  God.  God  is  not 
above  the  soul,  seeing  and  judging,  apart 
in  isolation.  The  Spirit  of  God  is  the  spirit 
of  humanity,  the  spirit  of  admiration,  the 
spirit  of  love.  It  matters  little  what  the  soul 
admires  and  loves,  whether  it  be  a  flower  or 


52         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

a  mountain,  a  face  or  a  cause,  a  gem  or  a 
doctrine.  It  is  that  wonderful  power  that 
the  current  of  the  soul  has  of  setting  to- 
wards something  that  is  beautiful :  the  need 
to  admire,  to  worship,  to  love.  A  regiment 
of  soldiers  in  the  street,  a  procession  of 
priests  to  a  sanctuary,  a  march  of  dis- 
ordered women  clamouring  for  their  rights 
— if  the  idea  thrills  you,  if  it  uplifts  you, 
it  matters  nothing  whether  other  people 
dislike  or  despise  or  deride  it — it  is  the 
voice  of  God  for  you.  We  must  advance 
from  what  is  merely  brilliant  to  what  is 
true;  and  though  in  the  single  life  many  a 
man  seems  to  halt  at  a  certain  point,  to 
liave  tied  up  his  little  packet  of  admirations 
once  and  for  all,  there  are  other  lives  where 
he  will  pass  on  to  further  loves,  his  pas- 
sion growing  more  intense  and  pure.  We 
are  not  limited  by  our  circle,  by  our  genera- 
tion, by  our  age;  and  the  things  which 
youthful  spirits  are  divining  and  proclaim- 
ing as  great  and  wonderful  discoveries,  are 
often  being  practised  and  done  by  silent  and 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        53 

humble  souls.  It  is  not  the  concise  or  im- 
pressive statement  of  a  truth  that  matters, 
it  is  the  intensity  of  the  inner  impulse 
towards  what  is  high  and  true  which 
differentiates.  The  more  we  live  by  that, 
the  less  are  we  inclined  to  argue  and  dis- 
pute about  it.  The  base,  the  impure  desire 
is  only  the  imperfect  desire ;  if  it  is  gratified, 
it  reveals  its  imperfections,  and  the  soul 
knows  that  not  there  can  it  stay;  but  it 
must  have  faced  and  tested  everything.  If 
the  soul,  out  of  timidity  and  convention- 
ality, says  ^  No '  to  its  eager  impulses,  it 
halts  upon  its  pilgrimage.  Some  of  the 
most  grievous  and  shameful  lives  on  earth 
have  been  fruitful  enough  in  reality.  The 
reason  why  we  mourn  and  despond  over 
them  is,  again,  that  we  limit  our  hope  to 
the  single  life.  There  is  time  for  every- 
thing ;  we  must  not  be  impatient.  We  must 
despair  of  nothing  and  of  no  one;  the  true 
life  consists  not  in  what  a  man's  reason 
approves  or  disapproves,  not  in  what  he 
does  or  says,  but  in  what  he  sees.     It  is 


54         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

useless  to  explain  things  to  souls;  they  must 
experience  them  to  apprehend  them.  The 
one  treachery  is  to  speak  of  mistakes  as 
irreparable,  and  of  sins  as  unforgivable. 
The  sin  against  the  Spirit  is  to  doubt  the 
Spirit,  and  the  sin  against  life  is  not  to 
use  it  generously  and  freely ;  we  are  happiest 
if  we  love  others  well  enough  to  give  our 
life  to  them;  but  it  is  better  to  use  life  for 
ourselves  than  not  to  use  it  at  all." 


VII 

One  day  I  said  to  Amroth,  "  Are  there  no 
rules  of  life  here?  It  seems  almost  too 
good  to  be  true,  not  to  be  found  fault  with 
and  censured  and  advised  and  blamed." 

"  Oh,"  said  Amroth,  laughing,  "  there  are 
plenty  of  rules^  as  you  call  them;  but  one 
feels  them,  one  is  not  told  them;  it  is  like 
breathing  and  seeing." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  yet  it  was  like  that, 
too,  in  the  old  days;  the  misery  was  when 
one  suddenly  discovered  that  when  one  was 
acting  in  what  seemed  the  most  natural  way 
possible,  it  gave  pain  and  concern  to  some 
one  whom  one  respected  and  even  loved. 
One  knew  that  one's  action  was  not  wrong, 
and  yet  one  desired  to  please  and  satisfy 
one's  friends;  and  so  one  fell  back  into  con- 
ventional ways,  not  because  one  liked  them 
but  because  other  people  did,  and  it  was 

55 


56         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

not  worth  while  making  a  fuss — it  was  a 
sort  of  cowardice,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Amroth ;  "  you  were 
more  on  the  right  lines  than  the  people  who 
interfered  with  you,  no  doubt ;  but  of  course 
the  truth  is  that  our  principles  ought  to 
be  used,  like  a  stick,  to  support  ourselves, 
not  like  a  rod  to  beat  other  people  with. 
The  most  difficult  people  to  teach,  as  you 
will  see  hereafter,  are  the  self-righteous  peo- 
ple, whose  lives  are  really  pure  and  good, 
but  who  allow  their  preferences  about 
amusements,  occupations,  ways  of  life,  to 
become  matters  of  principle.  The  worst 
temptation  in  the  world  is  the  habit  of  in- 
i  fluence  and  authority,  the  desire  to  direct 
other  lives  and  to  conform  them  to  one's 
own  standard.  The  only  way  in  which  we 
can  help  other  people  is  by  loving  them ;  by 
frightening  another  out  of  something  which 
he  is  apt  to  do  and  of  which  one  does  not 
approve,  one  effects  absolutely  nothing:  sin 
cannot  be  scared  away;  the  spirit  must 
learn  to  desire  to  cast  it  away,  because  it 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         57 

sees  that  goodness  is  beautiful  and  fine;  and 
this  can  only  be  done  by  example,  never  by 
precept." 

"  But  it  is  the  entire  absence  of  both  that 
puzzles  me  here/'  I  said.  "  Nothing  to  do 
and  a  friend  to  talk  to ;  it 's  a  lazy  business, 
I  think." 

Amroth  looked  at  me  with  amusement. 
"  It 's  a  sign,"  he  said,  "  if  you  feel  that, 
that  you  are  getting  rested,  and  ready  to 
move  on;  but  you  will  be  very  much  sur- 
prised when  you  know  a  little  more  about 
the  life  here.  You  are  like  a  baby  in  a 
cradle  at  present;  when  you  come  to  enter 
one  of  our  communities  here,  you  will  find 
it  as  complicated  a  business  as  you  could 
wish.  Part  of  the  difficulty  is  that  there 
are  no  rules,  to  use  your  own  phrase.  It  is 
real  democracy,  but  it  is  not  complicated 
by  any  questions  of  property,  which  is  the 
thing  that  clogs  all  political  progress  in  the 
world  below.  There  is  nothing  to  scheme 
for,  no  ambitions  to  gratify,  nothing  to  gain 
at  the  expense  of  others ;  the  only  thing  that 


58         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

matters  is  one^s  personal  relation  to  others ; 
and  this  is  what  makes  it  at  once  so  simple 
and  so  complex.  But  I  do  not  think  it  is 
of  any  use  to  tell  you  all  this ;  you  will  see 
it  in  a  flash,  when  the  time  comes.  But  it 
may  be  as  well  for  you  to  remember  that 
there  will  be  no  one  to  command  you  or 
compel  you  or  advise  you.  Your  own 
heart  and  spirit  will  be  your  only  guides. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  compulsion  or 
force  in  heaven.  Nothing  can  be  done  to 
you  that  you  do  not  choose  or  allow  to  be 
done." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  it  is  the  blessed  and 
beautiful  sense  of  freedom  from  all  ties 
and  influences  and  fears  that  is  so  utterly 
blissful." 

"  But  this  is  not  all,"  said  Amroth,  shak- 
ing his  head  with  a  smile.  "  This  is  a  time 
of  rest  for  you,  but  things  are  very  different 
elsewhere.  When  you  come  to  enter  heaven 
itself,  you  will  be  constantly  surprised. 
There  are  labour  and  fear  and  sorrow  to 
be  faced;  and  you  must  not  think  it  is  a 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        59 

place  for  drifting  pleasantly  along.  The 
moral  struggle  is  the  same — indeed  it  is 
fiercer  and  stronger  than  ever,  because  there 
is  no  bodily  languor  or  fatigue  to  distract. 
There  are  choices  to  be  made,  duties  to  per- 
form, evil  to  be  faced.  The  bodily  tempta- 
tions are  absent,  but  there  is  still  that  which 
lay  behind  the  bodily  frailties — curiosity, 
love  of  sensation,  excitement,  desire;  the 
strong  duality  of  nature — the  knowledge  of 
duty  on  the  one  hand  and  the  indolent 
shrinking  from  performance — that  is  all 
there;  there  is  the  same  sense  of  isolation, 
and  the  same  need  for  patient  endeavour 
as  upon  earth.  All  that  one  gets  is  a  cer- 
tain freedom  of  movement ;  one  is  not  bound 
to  places  and  employments  by  the  material 
ties  of  earth;  but  you  must  not  think  that 
it  is  all  to  be  easy  and  straightforward. 
We  can  each  of  us  by  using  our  wills  shorten 
our  probation,  by  not  resisting  influences, 
by  putting  our  hearts  and  minds  in  unison 
with  the  will  of  God  for  us;  and  that  is 
easier  in  heaven  than  upon  earth,  because 


6o        The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

there  is  less  to  distract  us.  But  on  the 
other  hand,  there  is  more  temptation  to 
drift,  because  there  are  no  material  conse- 
quences to  stimulate  us.  There  are  many 
people  on  earth  who  exercise  a  sort  of  prac- 
tical virtue  simply  to  avoid  material  incon- 
veniences, while  there  is  no  such  motive  in 
heaven;  I  say  all  this  not  to  disturb  your 
present  tranquillity,  which  it  is  your  duty 
now  to  enjoy,  but  just  to  prepare  you.  You 
must  be  prepared  for  effort  and  for  en- 
deavour, and  even  for  strife.  You  must 
use  right  judgment,  and,  above  all,  common 
sense;  one  does  not  get  out  of  the  reach 
of  that  in  heaven ! '' 


VIII 

These  are  only  some  of  the  many  talks  I 
had  with  Amroth.  They  ranged  over  a 
great  many  subjects  and  thoughts.  What 
I  cannot  indicate,  however,  is  the  lightness 
and  freshness  of  them;  and  above  all,  their 
entire  frankness  and  amusingness.  There 
were  times  when  we  talked  like  two  children, 
revived  old  simple  adventures  of  life — he  had 
lived  far  more  largely  and  fully  than  I  had 
done — and  I  never  tired  of  hearing  the  tales 
of  his  old  lives,  so  much  more  varied  and 
wonderful  than  my  own.  Sometimes  we 
merely  told  each  other  stories  out  of  our 
imaginations  and  hearts.  We  even  played 
games,  which  I  cannot  describe,  but  they 
were  like  the  games  of  earth.  We  seemed 
at  times  to  walk  and  wander  together;  but 
I  had  a  sense  all  this  time  that  I  was,  so 

6i 


62         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

to  speak,  in  hospital,  being  tended  and  cared 
for,  and  not  allowed  to  do  anything  weari- 
some or  demanding  effort.  But  I  became 
more  and  more  aware  of  other  spirits  about 
me,  like  birds  that  chirp  and  twitter  in 
the  ivy  of  a  tower,  or  in  the  thick  bushes 
of  a  shrubbery.  Amroth  told  me  one  day 
that  I  must  prepare  for  a  great  change  soon, 
and  I  found  myself  wondering  what  it  would 
be  like,  half  excited  about  it,  and  half 
afraid,  unwilling  as  I  was  to  lose  the  sweet 
rest,  and  the  dear  companionship  of  a  friend 
who  seemed  like  the  crown  and  sum  of  all 
hopes  of  friendship.  Amroth  became  utterly 
dear  to  me,  and  it  was  a  joy  beyond  all 
joys  to  feel  his  happy  and  smiling  nature 
bent  upon  me,  hour  by  hour,  in  sympathy 
and  understanding  and  love.  He  said  to 
me  laughingly  once  that  I  had  much  of 
earth  about  me  yet,  and  that  I  must  soon 
learn  not  to  bend  my  thoughts  so  exclusively 
one  way  and  on  one  friend. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  am  not  fit  for  heaven 
yet!    I  believe  I  am  jealous;  I  cannot  bear 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         63 

to  think  that  you  will  leave  me,  or  that  any 
other  soul  deserves  your  attention." 

"  Oh,"  he  said  lightly,  "  this  is  my  busi- 
ness and  delight  now — but  you  will  soon 
have  to  do  for  others  what  I  am  doing  for 
you.  You  like  this  easy  life  at  present,  but 
you  can  hardly  imagine  how  interesting  it 
is  to  have  some  one  given  you  for  your  own, 
as  you  were  given  to  me.  It  is  the  delight 
of  motherhood  and  fatherhood  in  one;  and 
when  I  was  allowed  to  take  you  away  out 
of  the  room  where  you  lay — I  admit  it 
was  not  a  pleasant  scene — I  felt  just  like 
a  child  who  is  given  a  kitten  for  its  very 
own." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  have  been  a  very  satis- 
factory pet — I  have  done  little  else  but 
purr."  I  felt  his  eyes  upon  me  in  a  wonder- 
ful nearness  of  love;  and  then  I  looked  up 
and  I  saw  that  we  were  not  alone. 

It  was  then  that  I  first  perceived  that 
there  could  be  grief  in  heaven.  I  say  "  first 
perceived,"  but  I  had  known  it  all  along. 
But  by  x\mroth's  gentle  power  that  had  been 


64         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

for  a  time  kept  away  from  me,  that  I  might 
rest  and  rejoice. 

The  form  before  me  was  that  of  a  very 
young  and  beautiful  woman — so  beautiful 
that  for  a  moment  all  my  thought  seemed  to 
be  concentrated  upon  her.  But  I  saw,  too, 
that  all  was  not  well  with  her.  She  was  not 
at  peace  with  herself,  or  her  surroundings. 
In  her  great  wide  eyes  there  was  a  look  of 
pain,  and  of  rebellious  pain.  She  was  at- 
tired in  a  robe  that  was  a  blaze  of  colour; 
and  when  I  wondered  at  this,  for  it  was  un- 
like the  clear  hues,  pearly  grey  and  gold, 
and  soft  roseate  light  that  had  hitherto 
encompassed  me,  the  voice  of  Amroth  an- 
swered my  unuttered  question,  and  said, 
"  It  is  the  image  of  her  thought."  Her  slim 
white  hands  moved  aimlessly  over  the  robe, 
and  seemed  to  finger  the  jewels  which 
adorned  it.  Her  lips  were  parted,  and  any- 
thing more  beautiful  than  the  pure  curves 
of  her  chin  and  neck  I  had  seldom  seen, 
though  she  seemed  never  to  be  still,  as 
Amroth  was  still,  but  to  move  restlessly  and 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         65 

wearily  about.  I  knew  by  a  sort  of  intui- 
tion that  she  was  unaware  of  Amroth  and 
only  aware  of  myself.  She  seemed  startled 
and  surprised  at  the  sight  of  me,  and  I 
wondered  in  what  form  I  appeared  to  her; 
in  a  moment  she  spoke,  and  her  voice  was 
low  and  thrilling. 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  she  said  in  a  half- 
courteous,  half-distracted  way,  "  to  find 
some  one  in  the  place  to  whom  I  can  speak. 
I  seem  to  be  always  moving  in  a  crowd,  and 
yet  to  see  no  one — they  are  afraid  of  me, 
I  think;  and  it  is  not  what  I  expected,  not 
what  I  am  used  to.  I  am  in  need  of  help, 
I  feel,  and  yet  I  do  not  know  what  sort 
of  help  it  is  that  I  want.  May  I  stay  with 
you  a  little?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  I  said ;  "  there  is  no  question 
of  ^  may '  here." 

She  came  up  to  me  with  a  sort  of  proud 
confidence,  and  looked  at  me  fixedly. 
"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  see  that  I  can  trust 
you ;  and  I  am  tired  of  being  deceived ! " 
Then  she  added  with  a  sort  of  pettishness, 


66         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

"  I  have  nowhere  to  go,  nothing  to  do — it 
is  all  dull  and  cold.  On  earth  it  was  just 
the  opposite.  I  had  only  too  much  atten- 
tion and  love.  .  .  .  Oh,  yes,"  she  added 
with  a  strange  glance,  "  it  was  what  you 
would  probably  call  sinful.  The  only  man 
I  ever  loved  did  not  care  for  me,  and  I 
was  loved  by  many  for  whom  I  did  not 
care.  Well,  I  had  my  pleasures,  and  I  sup- 
pose I  must  pay  for  them.  I  do  not  com- 
plain of  that.  But  I  am  determined  not  to 
give  way:  it  is  unjust  and  cruel.  I  never 
had  a  chance.  I  was  always  brought  up  to 
be  admired  from  the  first.  We  were  rich 
at  my  home,  and  in  society — ^you  under- 
stand? I  made  what  was  called  a  good 
match,  and  I  never  cared  for  my  husband, 
but  amused  myself  with  other  people;  and 
it  was  splendid  while  it  lasted:  then  all 
kinds  of  horrible  things  happened — scenes, 
explanations,  a  lawsuit — it  makes  me 
shudder  to  remember  it  all ;  and  then  I  was 
ill,  I  suppose,  and  suddenly  it  was  all  over, 
and  I  was  alone,  with  a  feeling  that  I  must 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         67 

try  to  take  up  with  all  kinds  of  tiresome 
things — all  the  things  that  bored  me  most. 
But  now  it  may  be  going  to  be  better;  you 
can  tell  me  where  I  can  find  people,  per- 
haps? I  am  not  quite  unpresentable,  even 
here?  No,  I  can  see  that  in  your  face. 
Well,  take  me  somewhere,  show  me  some- 
thing, find  something  for  me  to  do  in  this 
deadly  place.  I  seem  to  have  got  into  a 
perpetual  sunset,  and  I  am  so  sick  of  it  all." 

I  felt  very  helpless  before  this  beautiful 
creature  who  seemed  so  troubled  and  dis- 
contented. "  No,"  said  the  voice  of  Amroth 
beside  me,  "  it  is  of  no  use  to  talk ;  let  her 
talk  to  you;  let  her  make  friends  with  you 
if  she  can." 

"  That 's  better,"  she  said,  looking  at  me. 
"  I  was  afraid  you  were  going  to  be  grave 
and  serious.  I  felt  for  a  minute  as  if  I 
was  going  to  be  confirmed." 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  you  need  not  be  disturbed ; 
nothing  will  be  done  to  you  against  your 
wish.  One  has  but  to  wish  here,  or  to  be 
willing,  and  the  right  thing  happens." 


68         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

She  came  close  to  me  as  I  said  this,  and 
said,  "Well,  I  think  I  shall  like  you,  if 
only  you  can  promise  not  to  be  serious." 
Then  she  turned,  and  stood  for  a  moment 
disconsolate,  looking  away  from  me. 

All  this  while  the  atmosphere  around  me 
had  been  becoming  lighter  and  clearer,  as 
though  a  mist  were  rising.  Suddenly  Am- 
roth  said,  "  You  will  have  to  go  with  her 
for  a  time,  and  do  what  you  can.  I  must 
leave  you  for  a  little,  but  I  shall  not  be 
far  off;  and  if  you  need  me,  I  shall  be  at 
hand.  But  do  not  call  for  me  unless  you 
are  quite  sure  you  need  me."  He  gave  me 
a  hand-clasp  and  a  smile,  and  was  gone. 

Then,  looking  about  me,  I  saw  at  last 
that  I  was  in  a  place.  Lonely  and  bare 
though  it  was,  it  seemed  to  me  very  beauti- 
ful. It  was  like  a  grassy  upland,  with  rocky 
heights  to  left  and  right.  They  were  most 
delicate  in  outline,  those  crags,  like  the 
crags  in  an  old  picture,  with  sharp,  smooth 
curves,  like  a  fractured  crystal.  They 
seemed  to  be  of  a  creamy  stone,  and  the 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         69 

shadows  fell  blue  and  distinct.  Down  be- 
low was  a  great  plain  full  of  trees  and 
waters,  all  very  dim.  A  path,  worn  lightly 
in  the  grass,  lay  at  my  feet,  and  I  knew 
that  we  must  descend  it  The  girl  with  me 
— I  will  call  her  Cynthia — was  gazing  at  it 
with  delight.  "  Ah,"  she  said,  "  I  can  see 
clearly  now.  This  is  something  like  a  real 
place,  instead  of  mist  and  light.  We  can 
find  people  down  here,  no  doubt;  it  looks 
inhabited  out  there."  She  pointed  with  her 
hand,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  could 
see  spires  and  towers  and  roofs,  of  a  fine 
and  airy  architecture,  at  the  end  of  a  long 
horn  of  water  which  lay  very  blue  among 
the  woods  of  the  plain.  It  puzzled  me,  be- 
cause I  had  the  sense  that  it  was  all  un- 
real, and,  indeed,  I  soon  perceived  that  it 
was  the  girPs  own  thought  that  in  some  way 
affected  mine.  "  Quick,  let  us  go,"  she  said ; 
"  what  are  we  waiting  for?  " 

The  descent  was  easy  and  gradual.  We 
came  down,  following  the  path,  over  the 
hill-shoulders.     A   stream    of   clear   water 


70         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

dripped  among  stones;  it  all  brought  back 
to  me  with  an  intense  delight  the  recollec- 
tion of  long  days  spent  among  such  hills 
in  holiday  times  on  earth,  but  all  without 
regret;  I  only  wished  that  an  old  and  dear 
friend  of  mine,  with  whom  I  had  often  gone, 
might  be  with  me.  He  had  quitted  life  be- 
fore me,  and  I  knew  somehow  or  hoped  that 
I  should  before  long  see  him ;  but  I  did  not 
wish  things  to  be  otherwise;  and,  indeed,  I 
had  a  strange  interest  in  the  fretful,  silly, 
lovely  girl  with  me,  and  in  what  lay  before 
us.  She  prattled  on,  and  seemed  to  be  re- 
covering her  spirits  and  her  confidence  at 
the  sights  around  us.  If  I  could  but  find 
anything  that  would  draw  her  out  of  her 
restless  mood  into  the  peace  of  the  morn- 
ing! She  had  a  charm  for  me,  though 
her  impatience  and  desire  for  amusement 
seemed  uninteresting  enough;  and  I  found 
myself  talking  to  her  as  an  elder  brother 
might,  with  terms  of  familiar  endearment, 
which  she  seemed  to  be  grateful  for.  It  was 
strange  in  a  way,  and  yet  it  all  appeared 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        71 

natural.  The  more  we  drew  away  from  the 
hills,  the  happier  she  became.  "  Ah,"  she 
said  once,  "  we  have  got  out  of  that  hateful 
place,  and  now  perhaps  we  may  be  more 
comfortable," — and  when  we  came  down  be- 
side the  stream  to  a  grove  of  trees,  and 
saw  something  which  seemed  like  a  road  be- 
neath us,  she  was  delighted.  "  That 's  more 
like  it,"  she  said,  "  and  now  we  may  find 
some  real  people  perhaps," — she  turned  to 
me  with  a  smile — "  though  you  are  real 
enough  too,  and  very  kind  to  me;  but  I 
still  have  an  idea  that  you  are  a  clergyman, 
and  are  only  waiting  your  time  to  draw 
a  moral." 


IX 


Now  before  I  go  on  to  tell  the  tale  of  what 
happened  to  us  in  the  valley  there  were  two 
very  curious  things  that  I  observed  or  began 
to  observe. 

Tlie  first  was  that  I  could  not  really  see 
into  the  girl's  thought.  I  became  aware 
that  though  I  could  see  into  the  thought 
of  Amroth  as  easily  and  directly  as  one  can 
look  into  a  clear  sea-pool,  with  all  its 
rounded  pebbles  and  its  swaying  fringes  of 
seaweed,  there  was  in  the  girl's  mind  a 
centre  of  thought  to  which  I  was  not  ad- 
mitted, a  fortress  of  personality  into  which 
I  could  not  force  my  way.  More  than  that. 
When  she  mistrusted  or  suspected  me,  there 
came  a  kind  of  cloud  out  from  the  central 
thought,  as  if  a  turbid  stream  were  poured 
into    the    sea-pool,    which    obscured    her 

thoughts  from  me,  though  when  she  came 

72 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         73 

to  know  me  and  to  trust  me,  as  she  did 
later,  the  cloud  was  gradually  withdrawn; 
and  I  perceived  that  there  must  be  a  perfect 
sacrifice  of  will,  an  intention  that  the  mind 
should  lie  open  and  unashamed  before  the 
thought  of  one's  friend  and  companion,  be- 
fore the  vision  can  be  complete.  With  Am- 
roth  I  desired  to  conceal  nothing,  and  he 
had  no  concealment  from  me.  But  with  the 
girl  it  was  different.  There  was  something 
in  her  heart  that  she  hid  from  me,  and  by 
no  effort  could  I  penetrate  it;  and  I  saw 
then  that  there  is  something  at  the  centre 
of  the  soul  which  is  our  very  own,  and  into 
which  God  Himself  cannot  even  look,  un- 
less we  desire  that  He  should  look;  and 
even  if  we  desire  that  He  should  look  into 
our  souls,  if  there  is  any  timidity  or  shame 
or  shrinking  about  us,  we  cannot  open  our 
souls  to  Him.  I  must  speak  about  this 
later,  when  the  great  and  wonderful  day 
came  to  me,  when  I  beheld  God  and  was 
beheld  by  Him.  But  now,  though  when  the 
girl  trusted  me  I  could  see  much  of  her 


74         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

thought,    the   inmost   cell   of   it   was   still 
hidden  from  me. 

And  then,  too,  I  perceived  another 
strange  thing;  that  the  landscape  in  which 
we  walked  was  very  plain  to  me,  but  that 
she  did  not  see  the  same  things  that  I  saw. 
With  me,  the  landscape  was  such  as  I  had 
loved  most  in  my  last  experience  of  life; 
it  was  a  land  to  me  like  the  English  hill- 
country  which  I  loved  the  best;  little  fields 
of  pasture  mostly,  with  hedgerow  ashes  and 
sycamores,  and  here  and  there  a  clear 
stream  of  water  running  by  the  wood-ends. 
There  were  buildings,  too,  low  white-walled 
farms,  roughly  slated,  much- weathered,  with 
evidences  of  homely  life,  byre  and  barn  and 
granary,  all  about  them.  These  sloping 
fields  ran  up  into  high  moorlands  and  little 
grey  crags,  with  the  trees  and  thickets  grow- 
ing in  the  rock  fronts.  I  could  not  think 
that  people  lived  in  these  houses  and  prac- 
tised agriculture,  though  I  saw  with  sur- 
prise and  pleasure  that  there  were  animals 
about,  horses  and  sheep  grazing,  and  dogs 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         75 

that  frisked  in  and  out.  I  had  always  be- 
lieved and  hoped  that  animals  had  their 
share  in  the  inheritance  of  light,  and  now 
I  thought  that  this  was  a  proof  that  it  was 
indeed  so,  though  I  could  not  be  sure  of 
it,  because  I  realised  that  it  might  be  but 
the  thoughts  of  my  mind  taking  shape,  for, 
as  I  say,  I  was  gradually  aware  that  the 
girl  did  not  see  what  I  saw.  To  her  it  was 
a  different  scene,  of  some  southern  country, 
because  she  seemed  to  see  vineyards,  and 
high-walled  lanes,  hill-crests  crowded  with 
houses  and  crowned  with  churches,  such  as 
one  sees  at  a  distance  in  the  Campagna, 
where  the  plain  breaks  into  chestnut-clad 
hills.  But  this  difference  of  sight  did  not 
make  me  feel  that  the  scene  was  in  any  de- 
gree unreal ;  it  was  the  idea  of  the  landscape 
which  we  loved,  its  pretty  associations  and 
familiar  features,  and  the  mind  did  the  rest, 
translating  it  all  into  a  vision  of  scenes 
which  had  given  us  joy  on  earth,  just  as 
we  do  in  dreams  when  we  are  in  the  body, 
when  the  sleeping  mind  creates  sights  which 


76         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

give  us  pleasure,  and  yet  we  have  no  know- 
ledge that  we  are  ourselves  creating  them. 
So  we  walked  together,  until  I  perceived 
that  we  were  drawing  near  to  the  town 
which  we  had  discerned. 

And  now  we  became  aware  of  people  go- 
ing to  and  fro.  Sometimes  they  stopped 
and  looked  upon  us  with  smiles,  and  even 
greetings;  and  sometimes  they  went  past 
absorbed  in  thought. 

Houses  appeared,  both  small  wayside 
abodes  and  larger  mansions  with  sheltered 
gardens.  What  it  all  meant  I  hardly  knew ; 
but  just  as  we  have  perfectly  decided  tastes 
on  earth  as  to  what  sort  of  a  house  we  like 
and  why  we  like  it,  whether  we  prefer  high, 
bright  rooms,  or  rooms  low  and  with  sub- 
dued light,  so  in  that  other  country  the  " 
mind  creates  what  it  desires. 

Presently  the  houses  grew  thicker,  and 
soon  we  were  in  a  street — the  town  to  my 
eyes  was  like  the  little  towns  one  sees  in 
the  Cotswold  country,  of  a  beautiful  golden 
stone,  with  deep  plinths  and  cornices,  with 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         77 

older  and  simpler  buildings  interspersed. 
My  companion  became  strangely  excited, 
glancing  this  way  and  that.  And  presently, 
as  if  we  were  certainly  expected,  there  came 
up  to  us  a  kindly  and  grave  person,  who 
welcomed  us  formally  to  the  place,  and  said 
a  few  courteous  words  about  his  pleasure 
that  we  should  have  chosen  to  visit  it. 

I  do  not  know  how  it  was,  but  I  did 
not  wholly  trust  our  host.  His  mind  was 
hidden  from  me ;  and  indeed  I  began  to  have 
a  sense,  not  of  evil,  indeed,  or  of  oppres- 
sion, but  a  feeling  that  it  was  not  the  place 
appointed  for  me,  but  only  where  my  busi- 
ness was  to  lie  for  a  season.  A  group  of 
people  came  up  to  us  and  welcomed  my 
com.panion  with  great  cheerfulness,  and  she 
was  soon  absorbed  in  talk. 


Now  before  I  come  to  tell  this  next  part 
of  my  story,  there  are  several  things  which 
seem  in  want  of  explanation.  I  speak  of 
people  as  looking  old  and  young,  and  of 
there  being  relations  between  them  such  as 
fatherly  and  motherly,  sonlike  and  lover- 
like. It  bewildered  me  at  first,  but  I  came 
to  guess  at  the  truth.  It  would  seem  that 
in  the  further  world  spirits  do  preserve  for 
a  long  time  the  characteristics  of  the  age 
at  which  they  last  left  the  earth;  but  I  saw 
no  very  young  children  anywhere  at  first, 
though  I  came  afterwards  to  know  what 
befell  them.  It  seemed  to  me  that,  in  the 
first  place  I  visited,  the  only  spirits  I  saw 
were  of  those  who  had  been  able  to  make 
a  deliberate  choice  of  how  they  would  live 
in  the  world  and  which  kind  of  desires  they 

would  serve;  it  is  very  hard  to  say  when 

78 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         79 

this  choice  takes  place  in  the  world  below, 
but  I  came  to  believe  that,  early  or  late, 
there  does  come  a  time  when  there  is  an 
opening  out  of  two  paths  before  each  hu- 
man soul,  and  when  it  realises  that  a  choice 
must  be  made.  Sometimes  this  is  made 
early  in  life;  but  sometimes  a  soul  drifts 
on,  guileless  in  a  sense,  though  its  life  may 
be  evil  and  purposeless,  not  looking  back- 
wards or  forwards,  but  simply  acting  as  its 
nature  bids  it  act.  What  it  is  that  decides 
the  awakening  of  the  will  I  hardly  know; 
it  is  all  a  secret  growth,  I  think;  but  the 
older  that  the  spirit  is,  in  the  sense  of 
spiritual  experience,  the  earlier  in  mortal 
life  that  choice  is  made;  and  this  is  only 
another  proof  of  one  of  the  things  which 
Amroth  showed  me,  that  it  is,  after  all, 
imagination  which  really  makes  the  dif- 
ference between  souls,  and  not  intellect  or 
shrewdness  or  energy;  all  the  real  things 
of  life — sympathy,  the  power  of  entering 
into  fine  relations,  however  simple  they  may 
be,  with  others,  loyalty,  patience,  devotion, 


8o         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

goodness — seem  to  grow  out  of  this  power 
of  imagination;  and  the  reason  why  the 
souls  of  whom  I  am  going  to  speak  were 
so  content  to  dwell  where  they  were,  was 
simply  that  they  had  no  imagination  be- 
yond, but  dwelt  happily  among  the  delights 
which  upon  earth  are  represented  by  sound 
and  colour  and  scent  and  comeliness  and 
comfort.  This  was  a  perpetual  surprise  to 
me,  because  I  saw  in  these  fine  creatures 
such  a  faculty  of  delicate  perception,  that  I 
could  not  help  believing  again  and  again 
that  their  emotions  were  as  deep  and  varied 
too;  but  I  found  little  by  little,  that  they 
were  all  bent,  not  on  loving,  and  therefore 
on  giving  themselves  away  to  what  they 
loved,  but  in  gathering  in  perceptions  and 
sensations,  and  finding  their  delight  in 
them;  and  I  realised  that  what  lies  at  the 
root  of  the  artistic  nature  is  its  deep  and 
vital  indifference  to  anything  except  what 
can  directly  give  it  delight,  and  that  these 
souls,  for  all  their  amazing  subtlety  and 
discrimination,  had  very  little  hold  on  life 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        8i 

at  all,  except  on  its  outer  details  and  super- 
ficial harmonies;  and  that  they  were  all 
very  young  in  experience,  and  like  shallow 
waters,  easily  troubled  and  easily  appeased; 
and  that  therefore  they  were  being  dealt 
with  like  children,  and  allowed  full  scope 
for  all  their  little  sensitive  fancies,  until 
the  time  should  come  for  them  to  go  further 
yet.  Of  course  they  were  one  degree  older 
than  the  people  who  in  the  world  had  been 
really  immersed  in  what  may  be  called 
solid  interests  and  serious  pursuits — sci- 
ence, politics,  organisation,  warfare,  com- 
merce— all  these  spirits  were  very  youthful 
indeed,  and  they  were,  I  suppose,  in  some 
very  childish  nursery  of  God.  But  what 
first  bewildered  me  was  the  finding  of  the 
earthly  proportions  of  things  so  strangely 
reversed,  the  serious  matters  of  life  so 
utterly  set  aside,  and  so  much  made  of  the 
things  which  many  people  take  no  sort  of 
trouble  about,  as  companionships  and  affec- 
tions, which  are  so  often  turned  into  a 
matter  of  mere  propinquity  and  circum- 

6 


82         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

stance.     But  of  this  I  shall  have  to  speak 
later  in  its  place. 

Now  it  is  difficult  to  describe  the  time  I 
spent  in  the  land  of  delight,  because  it  was 
all  so  unlike  the  life  of  the  world,  and  yet 
was  so  strangely  like  it.  There  was  work 
going  on  there,  I  found,  but  the  nature  of 
it  I  could  not  discern,  because  that  was 
kept  hidden  from  me.  Men  and  women  ex- 
cused themselves  from  our  company,  saying 
they  must  return  to  their  work ;  but  most  of 
the  time  was  spent  in  leisurely  converse 
about  things  which  I  confess  from  the  first 
did  not  interest  me.  There  was  much  wit 
and  laughter,  and  there  were  constant 
games  and  assemblies  and  amusements. 
There  were  feasts  of  delicious  things,  music, 
dramas.  There  were  books  read  and  dis- 
cussed; it  was  just  like  a  very  cultivated 
and  civilised  society.  But  what  struck  me 
about  the  people  there  was  that  it  was  all 
very  restless  and  highly-strung,  a  perpetual 
tasting  of  pleasures,  which  somehow  never 
pleased.     There  were  two  people  there  who 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         83 

interested  me  most.  One  was  a  very  hand- 
some and  courteous  man,  who  seemed  to 
desire  my  company,  and  si)oke  more  freely 
than  the  rest;  the  other  a  young  man,  who 
was  very  much  occupied  with  the  girl,  my 
companion,  and  made  a  great  friendship 
with  her.  The  elder  of  the  two,  for  I  must 
give  them  names,  shall  be  called  Charmides, 
which  seems  to  correspond  with  his  stately 
charm,  and  the  younger  may  be  known  as 
Lucius. 

I  sat  one  day  with  Charmides,  listening 
to  a  great  concert  of  stringed  and  wind  in- 
struments, in  a  portico  which  gave  on  a 
large  sheltered  garden.  He  was  much  ab- 
sorbed in  the  music,  which  was  now  of  a 
brisk  and  measured  beauty,  and  now  of  a 
sweet  seriousness  which  had  a  very  luxuri- 
ous effect  upon  my  mind.  "  It  is  wonder- 
ful to  me,"  said  Charmides,  as  the  last 
movement  drew  to  a  close  of  liquid  melody, 
"  that  these  sounds  should  pass  into  the 
heart  like  wine,  heightening  and  uplift- 
ing the  thought — there  is  nothing  so  beauti- 


84         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

ful  as  the  discrimination  of  mood  with 
which  it  affects  one,  weighing  one  delicate 
phrase  against  another,  and  finding  all  so 
perfect.'' 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  can  understand  that ; 
but  I  must  confess  that  there  seems  to  me 
something  wanting  in  the  melodies  of  this 
place.  The  music  which  I  loved  in  the  old 
days  was  the  music  which  spoke  to  the  soul 
of  something  further  yet  and  unattainable; 
but  here  the  music  seems  to  have  attained 
its  end,  and  to  have  fulfilled  its  own 
desire." 

"  Yes,"  said  Charmides,  "  I  know  that  you 
feel  that ;  your  mind  is  very  clear  to  me,  up 
to  a  certain  point;  and  I  have  sometimes 
wondered  why  you  spend  your  time  here, 
because  you  are  not  one  of  us,  as  your  friend 
Cynthia  is." 

I  glanced,  as  he  spoke,  to  where  Cynthia 
sat  on  a  great  carved  settle  among  cush- 
ions, side  by  side  with  Lucius,  whispering 
to  him  with  a  smile. 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  do  not  think  I  have 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        85 

found  my  place  yet,  but  I  am  here,  I  think, 
for  a  purpose,  and  I  do  not  know  what  that 
purpose  is." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  have  sometimes  won- 
dered myself.  I  feel  that  you  may  have 
something  to  tell  me,  some  message  for  me. 
I  thought  that  when  I  first  saw  you;  but 
I  cannot  quite  perceive  what  is  in  your 
mind,  and  I  see  that  you  do  not  wholly 
know  what  is  in  mine.  I  have  been  here 
for  a  long  time,  and  I  have  a  sense  that 
I  do  not  get  on,  do  not  move;  and  yet  I 
have  lived  in  extreme  joy  and  contentment, 
except  that  I  dread  to  return  to  life,  as  I 
know  I  must  return.  I  have  lived  often, 
and  always  in  joy — but  in  life  there  are 
constantly  things  to  endure,  little  things 
which  just  ruffle  the  serenity  of  soul  which 
I  desire,  and  which  I  may  fairly  say  I  here 
enjoy.  I  have  loved  beauty,  and  not  in- 
temperately ;  and  there  have  been  other  peo- 
ple— men  and  women — whom  I  have  loved, 
in  a  sense;  but  the  love  of  them  has  always 
seemed  a  sort  of  interruption  to  the  life  I  |i 


86         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

desired,  something  disordered  and  strained, 
which  hurt  me,  and  kept  me  away  from  the 
peace  I  desired — from  the  fine  weighing  of 
sounds  and  colours,  and  the  pleasure  of 
beautiful  forms  and  lines;  and  I  dread  to 
return  to  life,  because  one  cannot  avoid 
love  and  sorrow,  and  mean  troubles,  which 
waste  the  spirit  in  vain.'^ 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  can  understand  what 
you  feel  very  well,  because  I  too  have  known 
what  it  is  to  desire  to  live  in  peace  and 
beauty,  not  to  be  disturbed  or  fretted;  but 
the  reason,  I  think,  why  it  is  dangerous,  is 
not  because  life  becomes  too  easy.  That 
is  not  the  danger  at  all — life  is  never  easy, 
whatever  it  is!  But  the  danger  is  that  it 
grows  too  solemn !  One  is  apt  to  become 
like  a  priest,  always  celebrating  holy  mys- 
teries, always  in  a  vision,  with  no  time  for 
laughter,  and  disputing,  and  quarrelling, 
and  being  silly  and  playing.  It  is  the  poor 
body  again  that  is  amiss.  It  is  like  the 
camel,  poor  thing;  it  groans  and  weeps,  but 
it  goes  on.     One  cannot  live  wholly  in  a 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn         87 

vision;  and  life  does  not  become  more  sim- 
ple so,  but  more  complicated,  for  one's  time 
and  energy  are  spent  in  avoiding  the  sordid 
and  tbe  tiresome  things  which  one  cannot 
and  must  not  avoid.  I  remember,  in  an  ill- 
ness which  I  had,  when  I  was  depressed  and 
fanciful,  a  homely  old  doctor  said  to  me, 
'Don't  be  too  careful  of  yourself:  don't 
think  you  can't  bear  this  and  that — go  out 
to  dinner — eat  and  drink  rather  too  much ! ' 
It  seemed  to  be  coarse  advice,  but  it  was 
wise." 

"  Yes,"  said  Charmides,  "  it  was  wise ;  but 
it  is  difficult  to  feel  it  so  at  the  time.  I 
wonder!  I  think  perhaps  I  have  made  the 
mistake  of  being  too  fastidious.  But  it 
seemed  so  fine  a  goal  that  one  had  in  sight, 
to  chasten  and  temper  all  one's  thoughts 
to  what  was  beautiful — to  judge  and  diS' 
tinguish,  to  choose  the  right  tones  and  har- 
monies, to  be  always  rejecting  and  refining. 
It  had  its  sorrows,  of  course.  How  often  in 
the  old  days  one  came  in  contact  with  some 
gracious    and    beautiful    personality,    and 


88         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

flung  oneself  into  close  relations;  and  then 
one  began  to  see  this  and  that  flaw.  There 
were  lapses  in  tact,  petulances,  littlenesses; 
one's  friend  did  not  rightly  use  his  beauti- 
ful mind;  he  was  jealous,  suspicious,  trivial, 
petty ;  it  ended  in  disillusionment.  Instead 
of  taking  him  as  a  passenger  on  one's  ves- 
sel, and  determining  to  live  at  peace,  to  over- 
look, to  accommodate,  one  began  to  watch 
for  an  opportunity  of  putting  him  down 
courteously  at  some  stopping-place ;  and  in- 
stead of  being  grateful  for  his  friendship, 
one  was  vexed  with  him  for  disappointing 
one.  We  must  speak  more  of  these  things. 
I  seem  to  feel  the  want  of  something  com- 
moner and  broader  in  my  thoughts;  but  in 
this  place  it  is  hard  to  change." 

"  Will  you  forgive  me  then,"  I  said,  "  if 
I  ask  you  plainly  what  this  place  is?  It 
seems  very  strange  to  me,  and  yet  I  think 
I  have  been  here  before." 

Charmides  looked  at  me  with  a  smile. 
"  It  has  been  called,"  he  said,  "  by  many 
ugly  names,  and  men  have  been  unreason- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        89 

ably  afraid  of  it.  It  is  the  place  of  satisfied 
desire,  and,  as  you  see,  it  is  a  comfortable 
place  enough.  The  theologians  in  their 
coarse  way  call  it  Hell,  though  that  is  a 
word  which  is  forbidden  here;  it  is  indeed 
a  sort  of  treason  to  use  the  word,  because 
of  its  unfortunate  association — and  you 
can  see  with  your  own  eyes  that  I  have 
done  wrong  even  to  speak  of  it." 

I  looked  round,  and  saw  indeed  that  a 
visible  tremor  had  fallen  on  the  groups 
about  us;  it  was  as  though  a  cold  cloud, 
full  of  hail  and  darkness,  had  floated  over 
a  sunny  sky.  People  were  hurrying  out 
of  the  garden,  and  some  were  regarding 
us  askance  and  with  frowns  of  disap- 
proval. In  a  moment  or  two  we  were  left 
alone. 

"  I  have  been  indiscreet,"  said  Charmides, 
"  but  I  feel  somehow  in  a  rebellious  mood ; 
and  indeed  it  has  long  seemed  abisurd  to  me 
that  you  should  be  unaware  of  the  fact,  and 
so  obviously  guileless !  But  I  will  speak  no 
more  of  this  to-day.     People  come  and  go 


90         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

here  very  strangely,  and  I  have  sometimes 
wondered  if  it  would  not  soon  be  time  for 
me  to  go;  but  it  would  be  idle  to  pretend 
that  I  have  not  been  happy  here." 


XI 


What  Charmides  had  told  me  filled  me  with 
great  astonishment ;  it  seemed  to  me  strange 
that  I  had  not  perceived  the  truth  before. 
It  made  me  feel  that  I  had  somehow  been 
wasting  time.  I  was  tempted  to  call  Amroth 
to  my  side,  but  I  remembered  what  he  had 
said,  and  I  determined  to  resist  the  impulse. 
I  half  expected  to  find  that  our  strange 
talk,  and  the  very  obvious  disapproval  of 
our  words,  had  made  some  difference  to  me. 
But  it  was  not  the  case.  I  found  myself 
treated  with  the  same  smiling  welcome  as 
before,  and  indeed  with  an  added  kind  of 
gentleness,  such  as  older  people  give  to  a 
child  who  has  been  confronted  with  some 
hard  fact  of  life,  such  as  a  sorrow  or  an 
illness.  This  in  a  way  disconcerted  me;  for 
in  the  moment  when  I  had  perceived  the 
truth,  there  had  come  over  me  the  feeling 
91 


92         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

that  I  ought  in  some  way  to  bestir  myself 
to  preach,  to  warn,  to  advise.  But  the  idea 
of  finding  any  sort  of  fault  with  these  con- 
tented, leisurely,  interested  people,  seemed 
to  me  absurd,  and  so  I  continued  as  before, 
half  enjoying  the  life  about  me,  and  half 
bored  by  it.  It  seemed  so  ludicrous  in  any 
way  to  pity  the  inhabitants  of  the  place,  and 
yet  I  dimly  saw  that  none  of  them  could 
possibly  continue  there.  But  I  soon  saw 
that  there  was  no  question  of  advice,  be- 
cause I  had  nothing  to  advise.  To  ask  them 
to  be  discontented,  to  suffer,  to  inquire, 
seemed  as  absurd  as  to  ask  a  man  riding 
comfortably  in  a  carriage  to  get  out  and 
walk;  and  yet  I  felt  that  it  was  just  that 
which  they  needed.  But  one  effect  the  in- 
cident had;  it  somehow  seemed  to  draw  me 
more  to  Cynthia.  There  followed  a  time 
of  very  close  companionship  with  her.  She 
sought  me  out,  she  began  to  confide  in  me, 
chattering  about  her  happiness  and  her  de- 
light in  her  surroundings,  as  a  child  might 
chatter,  and  half  chiding  me,  in  a  tender  and 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        93 

pretty  way,  for  not  being  more  at  ease  in 
the  place.  "  You  always  seem  to  me,"  she 
said,  "as  if  you  were  only  staying  here, 
while  I  feel  as  if  I  could  live  here  for  ever. 
Of  course  you  are  very  kind  and  patient 
about  it  all,  but  you  are  not  at  home — and 
I  don't  care  a  bit  about  your  disapproval 
now."  She  talked  to  me  much  about  Lucius, 
who  seemed  to  have  a  great  attraction  for 
her.  "  He  is  all  right,"  she  said.  "  There 
is  no  nonsense  about  him, — we  understand 
each  other;  I  don't  get  tired  of  him,  and 
we  like  the  same  things.  I  seem  to  know 
exactly  what  he  feels  about  everything ;  and 
that  is  one  of  the  comforts  of  this  place, 
that  no  one  asks  questions  or  makes  mis- 
chief; one  can  do  just  as  one  likes  all  the 
time.  I  did  not  think,  when  I  was  alive, 
that  there  could  be  anything  so  delightful 

as  all  this  ahead  of  me." 

"  Do  you  never  think — ?  "  I  began,  but 
she  put  her  hand  to  my  lips,  like  a  child, 
to  stop  me,  and  said,  "  No,  I  never  think, 
and  I  never  mean  to  think,  of  all  the  old 


94         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

hateful  things.  I  never  wilfully  did  any 
harm;  I  only  liked  the  people  who  liked 
me,  and  gave  them  all  they  asked — and  now 
I  know  that  I  did  right,  though  in  old  days 
serious  people  used  to  try  to  frighten  me. 
God  is  very  good  to  me,"  she  went  on,  smil- 
ing, "  to  allow  me  to  be  happy  in  my  own 
way." 

While  we  talked  thus,  sitting  on  a  seat 
that  overlooked  the  great  city — I  had  never 
seen  it  look  so  stately  and  beautiful,  so  full 
of  all  that  the  heart  could  desire — Lucius 
himself  drew  near  to  us,  smiling,  and  seated 
himself  the  other  side  of  Cynthia.  "  Now 
is  not  this  heavenly?  "  she  said;  "  to  be  with 
the  two  people  I  like  best — for  you  are  a 
faithful  old  thing,  you  know — and  not  to 
be  afraid  of  anything  disagreeable  or  tire- 
some happening — not  to  have  to  explain  or 
make  excuses,  what  could  be  better?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lucius,  "  it  is  happy  enough," 
and  he  smiled  at  me  in  a  friendly  way. 
"  The  pleasantest  point  is  that  one  can  wait 
in  this  charming  place.     In  the  old  days. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        95 

one  was  afraid  of  a  hundred  things — money, 
weather,  illness,  criticism.  One  had  to 
make  love  in  a  hurry,  because  one  missed 
the  beautiful  hour;  and  then  there  was  the 
horror  of  growing  old.  But  now  if  Cyn- 
thia chooses  to  amuse  herself  with  other 
people,  what  do  I  care?  She  comes  back 
as  delightful  as  ever,  and  it  is  only  so  much 
more  to  be  amused  about.  One  is  not  even 
afraid  of  being  lazy,  and  as  for  those  ugly 
twinges  of  what  one  called  conscience — 
which  were  only  a  sort  of  rheumatism  after 
all — that  is  all  gone  too;  and  the  delight 
of  finding  that  one  was  right  after  all,  and 
that  there  were  really  no  such  things  as 
consequences ! " 

I  became  aware,  as  Lucius  spoke  thus,  in 
all  his  careless  beauty,  of  a  vague  trouble 
of  soul.  I  seemed  to  foresee  a  kind  of  con- 
flict between  myself  and  him.  He  felt  it 
too,  I  was  aware;  for  he  drew  Cynthia  to 
him,  and  said  something  to  her;  and  pre- 
sently they  went  off  laughing,  like  a  pair 
of  children,  waving  a  farewell  to  me.     I 


96         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

experienced  a  sense  of  desolation,  knowing 
in  my  mind  that  all  was  not  well,  and  yet 
feeling  so  powerless  to  contend  with  happi- 
ness so  strong  and  wide. 


XII 

Presently  I  wandered  off  alone,  and  went 
out  of  the  city  with  a  sudden  impulse.  I 
thought  I  would  go  in  the  opposite  direction 
to  that  by  which  I  had  entered  it.  I  could 
see  the  great  hills  down  which  Cynthia  and 
I  had  made  our  way  in  the  dawn;  but  I 
had  never  gone  in  the  further  direction, 
where  there  stretched  what  seemed  to  be 
a  great  forest.  The  whole  place  lay  bathed 
in  a  calm  light,  all  unutterably  beautiful. 
I  wandered  long  by  streams  and  wood-ends, 
every  corner  that  I  turned  revealing  new 
prospects  of  delight.  I  came  at  last  to  the 
edge  of  the  forest,  the  mouths  of  little  open 
glades  running  up  into  it,  with  fern  and 
thorn-thickets.  There  were  deer  here  brows- 
ing about  the  dingles,  which  let  me  come 
close  to  them  and  touch  them,  raising  their 
heads  from  the  grass,  and  regarding  me  with 

7  97 


98         The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

gentle  and  fearless  eyes.  Birds  sang  softly 
among  the  boughs,  and  even  fluttered  to  my 
shoulder,  as  if  pleased  to  be  noticed.  So 
this  was  what  was  called  on  earth  the  place 
of  torment,  a  place  into  which  it  seemed  as 
if  nothing  of  sorrow  or  pain  could  ever 
intrude ! 

Just  on  the  edge  of  the  wood  stood  a 
little  cottage,  surrounded  by  a  quiet  garden, 
bees  humming  about  the  flowers,  the  scents 
of  which  came  with  a  homely  sweetness  on 
the  air.  But  here  I  saw  something  which 
I  did  not  at  first  understand.  This  was  a 
group  of  three  people,  a  man  and  a  woman 
and  a  boy  of  about  seventeen,  beside  the 
cottage  porch.  They  had  a  rustic  air  about 
them,  and  the  same  sort  of  leisurely  look 
that  all  the  people  of  the  land  wore.  They 
were  all  three  beautiful,  with  a  simple  and 
appropriate  kind  of  beauty,  such  as  comes 
of  a  contented  sojourn  in  the  open  air.  But 
I  became  in  a  moment  aware  that  there 
was  a  disturbing  element  among  them.  The 
two  elders  seemed  to  be  trying  to  persuade 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        99 

the  boy,  who  listened  smilingly  enough,  but 
half  turned  away  from  them,  as  though  he 
were  going  away  on  some  errand  of  which 
they  did  not  approve.  They  greeted  me,  as 
I  drew  near,  with  the  same  cordiality  as 
one  received  everywhere,  and  the  man  said, 
"  Perhaps  you  can  help  us,  sir,  for  we  are 
in  a  trouble?  "  The  woman  joined  with  a 
murmur  in  the  request,  and  I  said  I  would 
gladly  do  what  I  could;  while  I  spoke,  the 
boy  watched  me  earnestly,  and  something 
drew  me  to  him,  because  I  saw^  a  look  that 
seemed  to  tell  me  that  he  was,  like  myself, 
a  stranger  in  the  place.  Then  the  man 
said,  "  We  have  lived  here  together  very 
happily  a  long  time,  we  three — I  do  not 
know  how  we  came  together,  but  so  it  was ; 
and  we  have  been  more  at  ease  than  words 
can  tell,  after  hard  lives  in  the  other  world ; 
and  now  this  lad  here,  who  has  been  our 
delight,  says  that  he  must  go  elsewhere  and 
cannot  stay  with  us;  and  we  would  per- 
suade him  if  we  could;  and  perhaps  you, 
sir,  who  no  doubt  know  what  lies  beyond 


100       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

the  fields  and  woods  that  we  see,  can  satisfy 
him  that  it  is  better  to  remain.^' 

While  he  spoke,  the  other  two  had  drawn 
near  to  me,  and  the  eyes  of  the  woman 
dwelt  upon  the  boy  with  a  look  of  intent 
love,  while  the  boy  looked  in  my  face  anx- 
iously and  inquiringly.  I  could  see,  I 
found,  very  deep  into  his  heart,  and  I  saw 
in  him  a  need  for  further  experience,  and 
a  desire  to  go  further  on;  and  I  knew  at 
once  that  this  could  only  be  satisfied  in  one 
way,  and  that  something  would  grow  out 
of  it  both  for  himself  and  for  his  compan- 
ions. So  I  said,  as  smilingly  as  I  could, 
^'  I  do  not  indeed  know  much  of  the  ways 
of  this  place,  but  this  I  know,  that  we  must 
go  where  we  are  sent,  that  no  harm  can 
befall  us,  and  that  we  are  never  far  away 
from  those  whom  we  love.  I  myself  have 
lately  been  sent  to  visit  this  strange  land; 
it  seems  only  yesterday  since  I  left  the 
mountains  yonder,  and  yet  I  have  seen  an 
abundance  of  strange  and  beautiful  things; 
we  must  remember  that  here  there  is  no 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn     :  i(yii  i  i 

sickness  or  misfortune  or  growing  old ;  and 
there  is  no  reason,  as  there  often  seemed  to 
be  on  earth,  why  we  should  fight  against 
separation  and  departure.  No  one  can,  I 
think,  be  hindered  here  from  going  where 
he  is  bound.  So  I  believe  that  you  will 
let  the  boy  go  joyfully  and  willingly,  for  I 
am  sure  of  this,  that  his  journey  holds  not 
only  great  things  for  himself,  but  even 
greater  things  for  both  of  you  in  the  future. 
So  be  content  and  let  him  depart." 

At  this  the  woman  said,  "Yes,  that  is 
right,  the  stranger  is  right,  and  we  must 
hinder  the  child  no  longer.  No  harm  can 
come  of  it,  but  only  good;  perhaps  he  will 
return,  or  we  may  follow  him,  when  the 
day  comes  for  that." 

I  saw  that  the  old  man  was  not  wholly 
satisfied  with  this.  He  shook  his  head  and 
looked  sadly  on  the  boy;  and  then  for  a 
time  we  sat  and  talked  of  many  things. 
One  thing  that  the  old  man  said  surprised 
me  very  greatly.  He  seemed  to  have  lived 
many  lives,  and  always  lives  of  labour;  he 


ioii  i  ;  The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

had  grown,  I  gathered  from  his  simple  talk, 
to  have  a  great  love  of  the  earth,  the  lives 
of  flocks  and  herds,  and  of  all  the  plants 
that  grew  out  of  the  earth  or  flourished  in 
it.  I  had  thought  before,  in  a  foolish  way, 
that  all  this  might  be  put  away  from  the 
spirit,  in  the  land  where  there  was  no  need 
of  such  things;  but  I  saw  now  that  there 
was  a  claim  for  labour,  and  a  love  of  com- 
mon things,  which  did  not  belong  only  to 
the  body,  but  was  a  real  desire  of  the  spirit. 
He  spoke  of  the  pleasures  of  tending  cattle, 
of  cutting  fagots  in  the  forest  woodland 
among  the  copses,  of  ploughing  and  sowing, 
with  the  breath  of  the  earth  about  one; 
till  I  saw  that  the  toil  of  the  world,  which 
I  had  dimly  thought  of  as  a  thing  which 
no  one  would  do  if  they  were  not  obliged, 
was  a  real  instinct  of  the  spirit,  and  had 
its  counterpart  beyond  the  body.  I  had 
supposed  indeed  that  in  a  region  where  all 
troublous  accidents  of  matter  were  over  and 
done  with,  and  where  there  was  no  need 
of  bodily  sustenance,  there  could  be  nothing 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       103 

which  resembled  the  old  weary  toil  of  the 
body;  but  now  I  saw  gladly  that  this  was 
not  so,  and  that  the  primal  needs  of  the 
spirit  outlast  the  visible  world.  Though 
my  own  life  had  been  spent  mostly  among 
books  and  things  of  the  mind,  I  knew  well 
the  joys  of  the  country-side,  the  blossoming  of 
the  orchard-close,  the  high-piled  granary,  the 
brightly-painted  waggon  loaded  with  hay, 
the  creaking  of  the  cider-press,  the  lowing 
of  cattle  in  the  stall,  the  stamping  of  horses 
in  the  stable,  the  mud-stained  implements 
hanging  in  the  high-roofed,  cobwebbed  barn. 
I  had  never  known  why  I  loved  these  things 
so  well,  and  had  invented  many  fancies  to 
explain  it;  but  now  I  saw  that  it  was  the 
natural  delight  in  work  and  increase;  and 
that  the  love  which  surrounded  all  these 
things  was  the  sign  that  they  were  real 
indeed,  and  that  in  no  part  of  life  could 
they  be  put  away.  And  then  there  came 
on  me  a  sort  of  gentle  laughter  at  the 
thought  of  how  much  of  the  religion  of  the 
world  spent  itself  on  bidding  the  heart  turn 


104       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

away  from  vanities,  and  lose  itself  in  dreams 
of  wonders  and  doctrines,  and  what  were 
called  higher  and  holier  things  than  barns 
and  byres  and  sheep-pens.  Yet  the  truth 
had  been  staring  me  in  the  face  all  the  time, 
if  only  I  could  have  seen  it ;  that  the  sense 
of  constraint  and  unreality  that  fell  upon 
one  in  religious  matters,  when  some  curious 
and  intricate  matter  was  confusedly  ex- 
pounded, was  perfectly  natural  and  whole- 
some; and  that  the  real  life  of  man  lay  in 
the  things  to  which  one  returned,  on  work- 
a-day  mornings,  with  such  relief — the  acts 
of  life,  the  work  of  homestead,  library,  bar- 
rack, office,  and  class-room,  the  sight  and 
sound  of  humanity,  the  smiles  and  glances 
and  unconsidered  words. 

When  we  had  sat  together  for  a  time,  the 
boy  made  haste  to  depart.  We  three  went 
with  him  to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  where  a 
road  passed  up  among  the  oaks.  The  three 
embraced  and  kissed  and  said  many  loving 
words;  and  then  to  ease  the  anxieties  of 
the  two,  I  said  that  I  would  myself  set 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       105 

the  boy  forward  on  his  way,  and  see  him 
well  bestowed.  They  thanked  me,  and  we 
went  together  into  the  wood,  the  two  lov- 
ingly waving  and  beckoning,  and  the  boy 
stepping  blithely  by  my  side. 

I  asked  him  whether  he  was  not  sorry  to 
go  and  leave  the  quiet  place  and  the  pair 
that  loved  him.  He  smiled  and  said  that 
he  knew  he  was  not  leaving  them  at  all, 
and  that  he  was  sure  that  they  would  soon 
follow;  and  that  for  himself  the  time  had 
come  to  know  more  of  the  place.  I  learned 
from  him  that  his  last  life  had  been  an 
unhappy  one,  in  a  crowded  street  and  a 
slovenly  home,  with  much  evil  of  talk  and 
act  about  him ;  he  had  hated  it  all,  he  said, 
but  for  a  little  sister  that  he  had  loved,  who 
had  kissed  and  clasped  him,  weeping,  when 
he  lay  dying  of  a  miserable  disease.  He 
said  that  he  thought  he  should  find  her, 
which  made  part  of  his  joy  of  going;  that 
for  a  long  while  there  had  come  to  him  a 
sense  of  her  remembrance  and  love;  and 
that  he  had  once  sent  his  thought  back  to 


io6       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

earth  to  find  her,  and  she  was  in  much 
grief  and  care ;  and  that  then  all  these  mes- 
sages had  at  once  ceased,  and  he  knew  that 
she  had  left  the  body.  He  was  a  merry 
boy,  full  of  delight  and  laughter,  and  we 
went  very  cheerfully  together  through  the 
sunlit  wood,  with  its  green  glades  and  open 
spaces,  which  seemed  all  full  of  life  and 
happiness,  creatures  living  together  in  good- 
will and  comfort.  I  saw  in  this  journey 
that  all  things  that  ever  lived  a  conscious 
life  in  one  of  the  innumerable  worlds  had 
a  place  and  life  of  their  own,  and  a  time 
of  refreshment  like  myself.  What  I  could 
not  discern  was  whether  there  was  any  in- 
terchange of  lives,  whether  the  soul  of  the 
tree  could  become  an  animal,  or  the  animal 
progress  to  be  a  man.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  it  w^as  not  so,  but  that  each  had  a 
separate  life  of  its  own.  But  I  saw  how 
foolish  was  the  fancy  that  I  had  pursued 
in  old  days,  that  there  was  a  central  reser- 
voir of  life,  into  which  at  death  all  little 
lives  were  merged;  I  was  yet  to  learn  how 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       107 

strangely  all  life  was  knit  together,  but 
now  I  saw  that  individuality  was  a  real 
and  separate  thing,  which  could  not  be 
broken  or  lost,  and  that  all  things  that  had 
ever  enjoyed  a  consciousness  of  the  privilege 
of  separate  life  had  a  true  dignity  and  worth 
of  existence;  and  that  it  was  only  the  body 
that  had  made  hostility  necessary;  that 
though  the  body  could  prey  upon  the  bodies 
of  animal  and  plant,  yet  that  no  soul  could 
devour  or  incorporate  any  other  soul.  But 
as  yet  the  merging  of  soul  in  soul  through 
love  was  unseen  and  indeed  unsuspected 
by  me. 

Now  as  we  went  in  the  wood,  the  boy 
and  I,  it  came  into  my  mind  in  a  flash  that 
I  had  seen  a  great  secret.  I  had  seen,  I 
knew,  very  little  of  the  great  land  yet — 
and  indeed  I  had  been  but  in  the  lowest 
place  of  all:  and  I  thought  how  base  and 
dull  our  ideas  had  been  upon  earth  of  God 
and  His  care  of  men.  We  had  thought  of 
Him  dimly  as  sweeping  into  His  place  of 
torment  and  despair  all  poisoned  and  dis- 


io8       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

eased  lives,  all  lives  that  had  clung  to  the 
body  and  to  the  pleasures  of  the  body,  all 
who  had  sinned  idly,  or  wilfully,  or 
proudly;  and  I  saw  now  that  He  used  men 
far  more  wisely  and  lovingly  than  thus. 
Into  this  lowest  place  indeed  passed  all 
sad,  and  diseased,  and  unhappy  spirits: 
and  instead  of  being  tormented  or  accursed, 
all  was  made  delightful  and  beautiful  for 
them  there,  because  they  needed  not  harsh 
and  rough  handling,  but  care  and  soft  tend- 
ance. They  were  not  to  be  frightened 
hence,  or  to  live  in  fear  and  anguish,  but 
to  live  deliciously  according  to  their  wish, 
and  to  be  drawn  to  perceive  in  some  quiet 
manner  that  all  was  not  well  with  them; 
they  were  to  have  their  heart's  desire,  and 
learn  that  it  could  not  satisfy  them;  but 
the  only  thing  that  could  draw  them  thence 
was  the  love  of  some  other  soul  whom  they 
must  pursue  and  find,  if  they  could.  It  was 
all  so  high  and  reasonable  and  just  that  I 
could  not  admire  it  enough.  I  saw  that  the 
boy  was  drawn  thence  by  the  love  of  his 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       109 

little  sister,  who  was  elsewhere;  and  that 
the  love  and  loss  of  the  boy  would  presently 
draw  the  older  pair  to  follow  him  and  to 
leave  the  place  of  heart's  delight.  And  then 
I  began  to  see  that  Cynthia  and  Charmides 
and  Lucius  were  being  made  ready,  each 
at  his  own  time,  to  leave  their  little  plea- 
sures and  ordered  lives  of  happiness,  and  to 
follow  heavenwards  in  due  course.  Be- 
cause it  was  made  plain  to  me  that  it  was 
the  love  and  worship  of  some  other  soul 
that  was  the  constraining  force;  but  what 
the  end  would  be  I  could  not  discern. 

And  now  as  we  went  through  the  wood, 
I  began  to  feel  a  strange  elation  and  joy 
of  spirit,  severe  and  bracing,  very  dif- 
ferent from  my  languid  and  half-contented 
acquiescence  in  the  place  of  beauty;  and 
now  the  woods  began  to  change  their  kind ; 
there  were  fewer  forest  trees  now,  but  bare 
heaths  with  patches  of  grey  sand  and  scat- 
tered pines ;  and  there  began  to  drift  across 
the  light  a  grey  vapour  which  hid  the  deli- 
cate hues  and  colours  of  the  sunlight,  and 


no       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

made  everything  appear  pale  and  spare. 
Very  soon  we  came  out  on  the  brow  of  a 
low  hill,  and  saw,  all  spread  out  before  us, 
a  place  which,  for  all  its  dulness  and  dark- 
ness, had  a  solemn  beauty  of  its  own. 
There  were  great  stone  buildings  very 
solidly  made,  with  high  chimneys  which 
seemed  to  stream  with  smoke;  we  could  see 
men,  as  small  as  ants,  moving  in  and  out 
of  the  buildings;  it  seemed  like  a  place  of 
manufacture,  with  a  busy  life  of  its  own. 
But  here  I  suddenly  felt  that  I  could  go 
no  further,  but  must  return.  I  hoped  that 
I  should  see  the  grim  place  again,  and  I 
desired  with  all  my  soul  to  go  down  into 
it,  and  see  what  eager  life  it  was  that  was 
being  lived  there.  And  the  boy,  I  saw,  felt 
this  too,  and  was  impatient  to  proceed.  So 
we  said  farewell  with  much  tenderness,  and 
the  boy  went  down  swiftly  across  the  moor- 
land, till  he  met  some  one  who  was  coming 
out  of  the  city,  and  conferred  a  little  with 
him;  and  then  he  turned  and  waved  his 
hand  to  me,  and  I  waved  my  hand  from 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       in 

the  brow  of  the  hill,  envying  him  in  my 
heart,  and  went  back  in  sorrow  into  the 
sunshine  of  the  wood. 

And  as  I  did  so  I  had  a  great  joy,  be- 
cause I  saw  Amroth  come  suddenly  run- 
ning to  me  out  of  the  wood,  who  put  his 
arm  through  mine,  and  walked  with  me. 
Then  I  told  him  of  all  I  had  seen  and 
thought,  while  he  smiled  and  nodded  and 
told  me  it  was  much  as  I  imagined.  "  Yes,'' 
he  said,  "  it  is  even  so.  The  souls  you  have 
seen  in  this  fine  country  here  are  just  as 
children  who  are  given  their  fill  of  pleasant 
things.  Many  of  them  have  come  into  the 
state  in  which  you  see  them  from  no  fault 
of  their  own,  because  their  souls  are  young 
and  ignorant.  They  have  shrunk  from  all 
pain  and  effort  and  tedium,  like  a  child  that 
does  not  like  his  lessons.  There  is  no 
thought  of  punishment,  of  course.  No  one 
learns  anything  of  punishment  except  a 
cowardly  fear.  We  never  advance  until 
we  have  the  will  to  advance,  and  there  is 
nothing  in  mere  suffering,  unless  we  learn 


112       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

to  bear  it  gently  for  the  sake  of  love.  On 
earth  it  is  not  God  but  man  who  is  cruel. 
There  is  indeed  a  place  of  sorrow,  which 
you  will  see  when  you  can  bear  the  sight, 
where  the  self-righteous  and  the  harsh  go 
for  a  time,  and  all  those  who  have  made 
others  suffer  because  they  believed  in  their 
own  justice  and  insight.  You  will  find 
there  all  tyrants  and  conquerors,  and  many 
rich  men,  who  used  their  wealth  heedlessly; 
and  even  so  you  will  be  surprised  when  you 
see  it.  But  those  spirits  are  the  hardest  of 
all  to  help,  because  they  have  loved  nothing 
but  their  own  virtue  or  their  own  ambition ; 
yet  you  will  see  how  they  too  are  drawn 
thence;  and  now  that  you  have  had  a  sight 
of  the  better  country,  tell  me  how  you  liked 
it." 

"  Why,"  I  said,  "  it  is  plain  and  austere 
enough;  but  I  felt  a  great  quickening  of 
spirit,  and  a  desire  to  join  in  the  labours 
of  the  place." 

Amroth  smiled,  and  said,  "  You  will  have 
little  share  in  that.     You  will  find  your 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       113 

task,  no  doubt,  when  you  are  strong  enough ; 
and  now  you  must  go  back  and  make  un- 
willing holiday  with  your  pleasant  friends. 
You  have  not  much  longer  to  stay  there; 
and  surely " — he  laughed  as  he  spoke — 
"you  can  endure  a  little  more  of  those  pretty 
concerts  and  charming  talk  of  art  and  its 
values  and  pulsations !  " 

"  I  can  endure  it,"  I  said,  laughing,  "  for 
it  does  me  good  to  see  you  and  to  hear  you ; 
but  tell  me,  Amroth,  what  have  you  been 
about  all  this  time?  Have  you  had  a 
thought  of  me?  " 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Amroth,  laughing. 
"  I  don't  forget  you,  and  I  love  your  com- 
pany; but  I  am  a  busy  man  myself,  and 
have  something  pleasanter  to  do  than  to 
attend  these  elegant  receptions  of  yours — 
at  which,  indeed,  I  have  sometimes  thought 
you  out  of  place." 

As  we  thus  talked  we  came  to  the  forest 
lodge.  The  old  pair  came  running  out  to 
greet  me,  and  I  told  them  that  the  boy  was 
well  bestowed.     I  could  see  in  the  woman's 


114       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

face  that  she  would  soon  follow  him,  and 
even  the  old  man  had  a  look  that  I  had 
not  seen  in  him  before;  and  here  Amroth 
left  me,  and  I  returned  to  the  city,  where 
all  was  as  peaceable  as  before. 


XIII 

But  when  I  saw  Cynthia,  as  I  presently 
did,  she  too  was  in  a  different  mood.  She 
had  positively  missed  me,  and  told  me  so 
with  many  endearments.  I  was  not  to  re- 
main away  so  long.  I  was  useful  to  her. 
Charmides  had  become  tiresome  and  lost 
in  thought,  but  Lucius  was  as  sweet  as  ever. 
Some  new-comers  had  arrived,  all  pleasant 
enough.  She  asked  me  where  I  had  been, 
and  I  told  her  all  the  story.  "Yes,  that 
is  beautiful  enough,"  she  said,  "  but  I  hate 
all  this  breaking  up  and  going  on.  I  am 
sure  I  do  not  wish  for  any  change.'^  She 
made  a  grimace  of  disgust  at  the  idea  of 
the  ugly  town  I  had  seen,  and  then  she 
said  that  she  would  go  with  me  some  time 
to  look  at  it,  because  it  would  make  her 
happier  to  return  to  her  peace;  and  then 

she  went  off  to  tell  Lucius. 
115 


ii6       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

I  soon  found  Charmides,  and  I  told  him 
my  adventures.  "  That  is  a  curious  story," 
he  said.  "  I  like  to  think  of  people  caring 
for  each  other  so;  that  is  picturesque! 
These  simple  emotions  are  interesting.  And 
one  likes  to  think  that  people  who  have 
none  of  the  finer  tastes  should  have  some- 
thing to  fall  back  upon — something  hot  and 
strong,  as  we  used  to  say.'^ 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  tell  me  this,  Charmides, 
was  there  never  any  one  in  the  old  days 
whom  you  cared  for  like  that?" 

"  I  thought  so  often  enough,"  said  he,  a 
little  peevishly,  "  but  you  do  not  know  how^ 
much  a  man  like  myself  is  at  the  mercy  of 
little  things!  An  ugly  hand,  a  broken 
tooth,  a  fallen  cheek  ...  it  seems  little 
enough,  but  one  has  a  sort  of  standard.  I 
had  a  microscopic  eye,  you  know,  and  a 
little  blemish  was  a  serious  thing  to  me. 
I  was  always  in  search  of  something  that 
I  could  not  find;  then  there  were  awkward 
strains  in  the  characters  of  people — they 
were  mean  or  greedy  or  selfish,  and  all  my 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn*      117 

pleasure  was  suddenly  dashed.  I  am  speak- 
ing," he  went  on,  "  with  a  strange  candour  I 
I  don't  defend  it  or  excuse  it,  but  there  it 
was.  I  did  once,  as  a  child,  I  believe,  care 
for  one  person — an  old  nurse  of  mine — in 
the  right  way.  Dear,  how  good  she  was 
to  me !  I  remember  once  how  she  came  all 
the  way,  after  she  had  left  us,  to  see  me 
on  my  way  through  town.  She  just  met 
me  at  a  railway  station,  and  she  had  bought 
a  little  book  which  she  thought  might  amuse 
me,  and  a  bag  of  oranges — she  remembered 
that  I  used  to  like  oranges.  I  recollect  at 
the  time  thinking  it  was  all  very  touching 
and  devoted;  but  I  was  with  a  friend  of 
mine,  and  had  not  time  to  say  much.  I 
can  see  her  old  face,  smiling,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  as  we  went  off.  I  gave  the  book 
and  the  oranges  away,  I  remember,  to  a 
child  at  the  next  station.  It  is  curious  how 
it  all  comes  back  to  me  now;  I  never  saw 
her  again,  and  I  wish  I  had  behaved  better. 
I  should  like  to  see  her  again,  and  to  tell 
her  that  I  really  cared!     I  wonder  if  that 


ii8       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

is  possible?  But  there  is  really  so  much 
to  do  here  and  to  enjoy;  and  there  is  no 
one  to  tell  me  where  to  go,  so  that  I  am 
puzzled.     What  is  one  to  do?  '^ 

"  I  think  that  if  one  desires  a  thing 
enough  here,  Charmides,"  I  said,  "  one  is  in 
a  fair  way  to  obtain  it.  Never  mind!  a 
door  will  be  opened.  But  one  has  got  to 
care,  I  suppose;  it  is  not  enough  to  look 
upon  it  as  a  pretty  effect,  which  one  would 
just  like  to  put  in  its  place  with  other 
effects — ^Open,  sesame' — do  you  remember? 
There  is  a  charm  at  which  all  doors  fly 
open,  even  here !  " 

"  I  will  talk  to  you  more  about  this,"  said 
Charmides,  "  when  I  have  had  time  to  ar- 
range my  thoughts  a  little.  Who  would 
have  supposed  that  an  old  recollection  like 
that  would  have  disturbed  me  so  much?  It 
would  make  a  good  subject  for  a  picture  or 
a  song." 


XIV 

It  was  on  one  of  these  days  that  Amroth 
came  suddenly  upon  me,  with  a  very  mirth- 
ful look  on  his  face,  his  eyes  sparkling  like 
a  man  struggling  with  hidden  laughter. 
"  Come  with  me,"  he  said ;  "  you  have  been 
so  dutiful  lately  that  I  am  alarmed  for 
your  health."  Then  we  went  out  of  the 
garden  where  I  was  sitting,  and  we  were 
suddenly  in  a  street.  I  saw  in  a  moment 
that  it  was  a  real  street,  in  the  suburb  of 
an  English  town ;  there  were  electric  trams 
running,  and  rows  of  small  trees,  and  an 
open  space  planted  with  shrubs,  with 
asphalt  paths  and  ugly  seats.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  road  was  a  row  of  big  villas, 
tasteless,  dreary,  comfortable  houses,  with 
meaningless  turrets  and  balconies.  I  could 
not  help  feeling  that  it  was  very  dismal 

that  men  and  women  should  live  in  such 
119 


120       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

places,  think  them  neat  and  well-appointed, 
and  even  grow  to  love  them.  We  went  into 
one  of  these  houses;  it  was  early  in  the 
morning,  and  a  little  drizzle  was  falling, 
which  made  the  whole  place  seem  very 
cheerless.  In  a  room  with  a  bow-window 
looking  on  the  road  there  were  three  per- 
sons. An  old  man  was  reading  a  paper  in 
an  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  with  his  back  to 
the  light.  He  looked  a  nice  old  man,  with 
his  clear  skin  and  white  hair;  opposite  him 
was  an  old  lady  in  another  chair,  reading 
a  letter.  With  his  back  to  the  fire  stood 
a  man  of  about  thirty-five,  sturdy-looking, 
but  pale,  and  with  an  appearance  of  being 
somewhat  overworked.  He  had  a  good  face, 
but  seemed  a  little  uninteresting,  as  if  he 
did  not  feed  his  mind.  The  table  had  been 
spread  for  breakfast,  and  the  meal  was  fin- 
ished and  partly  cleared  away.  The  room 
was  ugly  and  the  furniture  was  a  little 
shabby;  there  was  a  glazed  bookcase,  full 
of  dull-looking  books,  a  sideboard,  a  table 
with  writing  materials  in  the  window,  and 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       121 

some  engravings  of  royal  groups  and  cele- 
brated men. 

The  younger  man,  after  a  moment,  said, 
"  Well,  I  must  be  off."  He  nodded  to  his 
father,  and  bent  down  to  kiss  his  mother, 
saying,  "  Take  care  of  yourself — I  shall  be 
back  in  good  time  for  tea."  I  had  a  sense 
that  he  was  using  these  phrases  in  a  me- 
chanical way,  and  that  they  were  custom- 
ary with  him.  Then  he  went  out,  planting 
his  feet  solidly  on  the  carpet,  and  presently 
the  front  door  shut.  I  could  not  under- 
stand why  we  had  come  to  this  very  un- 
emphatic  party,  and  examined  the  whole 
room  carefully  to  see  what  was  the  object 
of  our  visit.  A  maid  came  in  and  removed 
the  rest  of  the  breakfast  things,  leaving  the 
cloth  still  on  the  table,  and  some  of  the 
spoons  and  knives,  with  the  salt-cellars,  in 
their  places.  When  she  had  finished  and 
gone  out,  there  was  a  silence,  only  broken 
by  the  crackling  of  the  paper  as  the  old 
man  folded  it.  Presently  the  old  lady  said: 
"  I  wish  Charles  could  get  his  holiday  a 


122       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

little  sooner;  he  looks  so  tired,  and  he  does 
not  eat  well.  He  does  stick  so  hard  to  his 
business." 

"  Yes,  dear,  he  does,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  but  it  is  just  the  busiest  time,  and  he  tells 
me  that  they  have  had  some  large  orders 
lately.  They  are  doing  very  well,  I  un- 
derstand." 

There  was  another  silence,  and  then  the 
old  lady  put  down  her  letter,  and  looked  for 
a  moment  at  a  picture,  representing  a  boy, 
a  large  photograph  a  good  deal  faded,  which 
hung  close  to  her — underneath  it  was  a 
small  vase  of  flowers  on  a  bracket.  She 
gave  a  little  sigh  as  she  did  this,  and  the 
old  man  looked  at  her  over  the  top  of  his 
paper.  "  Just  think,  father,"  she  said, 
"  that  Harry  would  have  been  thirty-eight 
this  very  week !  " 

The  old  man  made  a  comforting  sort  cf 
little  noise,  half  sympathetic  and  half  de- 
precatory. "  Yes,  I  know,"  said  the  old 
lady,  "  but  I  can't  help  thinking  about  him 
a  great  deal  at  this  time  of  the  year.     I 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       123 

don't  understand  why  he  was  taken  away 
from  us.  He  was  always  such  a  good  boy 
— he  would  have  been  just  like  Charles,  only 
handsomer — he  was  always  handsomer  and 
brighter;  he  had  so  much  of  your  spirit! 
Not  but  what  Charles  has  been  the  best  of 
sons  to  us — I  don't  mean  that — no  one 
could  be  better  or  more  easy  to  please!  But 
Harry  had  a  different  way  with  him."  Her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  which  she  brushed 
away.  "  No,''  she  added,  "  I  won't  fret 
about  him.  I  daresay  he  is  happier  where 
he  is — I  am  sure  he  is — and  thinking  of  his 
mother  too,  my  bonny  boy,  perhaps." 

The  old  man  got  up,  put  his  paper  down, 
went  across  to  the  old  lady,  and  gave  her 
a  kiss  on  the  brow.  "  There,  there,"  he  said 
soothingly,  "  we  may  be  sure  it 's  all  for  the 
best ; "  and  he  stood  looking  down  fondly 
at  her.  Amroth  crossed  the  room  and  stood 
beside  the  pair,  with  a  hand  on  the  shoulder 
of  each.  I  saw  in  an  instant  that  there 
was  an  unmistakable  likeness  between  the 
three;  but  the  contrast  of  the  marvellous 


124       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

brilliance  and  beauty  of  Amrotli  with  the 
old,  world- wearied,  simple-minded  couple 
was  the  most  extraordinary  thing  to  behold. 
"  Yes,  I  feel  better  already,''  said  the  old 
lady,  smiling;  "it  always  does  me  good  to 
say  out  what  I  am  feeling,  father ;  and  then 
you  are  sure  to  understand." 

The  mist  closed  suddenly  in  upon  the 
scene,  and  we  were  back  in  a  moment  in 
the  garden  with  its  i)orticoes,  in  the  radiant, 
untroubled  air.  Amroth  looked  at  me  with 
a  smile  that  was  full,  half  of  gaiety  and 
half  of  tenderness.  "  There,"  he  said, 
"what  do  you  think  of  that?  If  all  had 
gone  well  with  me,  as  they  say  on  earth, 
that  is  where  I  should  be  now,  going  down 
to  the  city  with  Charles.  That  is  the  pro- 
spect which  to  the  dear  old  people  seems  so 
satisfactory  compared  with  this!  In  that 
house  I  lay  ill  for  some  weeks,  and  from 
there  my  body  was  carried  out.  And  they 
would  have  kept  me  there  if  they  could — 
and  I  myself  did  not  want  to  go.  I  was 
afraid.      Oh,  how  I  envied  Charles  going 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       125 

down  to  the  city  and  coming  back  for  tea, 
to  read  the  magazines  aloud  or  play  back^ 
gammon.  I  am  afraid  I  was  not  as  nice  as 
I  should  have  been  about  all  that — the  even- 
ings were  certainly  dull !  " 

"But  what  do  you  feel  about  it  now?" 
I  said.  "  Don't  you  feel  sorry  for  the 
muddle  and  ignorance  and  pathos  of  it  all? 
Can't  something  be  done  to  show  everybody 
what  a  ghastly  mistake  it  is,  to  get  so  tied 
down  to  the  earth  and  the  things  of  earth?  " 

"  A  mistake?  "  said  Amroth.  "  There  is 
no  such  thing  as  a  mistake.  One  cannot 
sorrow  for  their  grief,  any  more  than  one 
can  sorrow  for  the  child  who  cries  out  in 
the  tunnel  and  clasps  his  mother's  hand. 
Don't  you  see  that  their  grief  and  loss  is 
the  one  beautiful  thing  in  those  lives,  and 
all  that  it  is  doing  for  them,  drawing  them 
hither?  Why,  that  is  where  we  grow  and 
become  strong,  in  the  hopeless  suffering  of 
love.  I  am  glad  and  content  that  my  own 
stay  was  made  so  brief.  I  wish  it  could  be 
shortened  for  the  three — and  yet  I  do  not, 


126       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

because  they  will  gain  so  wonderfully  by 
it.  They  are  mounting  fast;  it  is  their  very 
ignorance  that  teaches  them.  Not  to  know, 
not  to  perceive,  but  to  be  forced  to  believe 
in  love,  that  is  the  point." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  see  that ;  but  what 
about  the  lives  that  are  broken  and  poi- 
soned by  grief,  in  a  stupor  of  pain — or  the 
souls  that  do  not  feel  it  at  all,  except  as 
a  passing  shadow — what  about  them?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Amroth  lightly,  "  the  sadder 
the  dream  the  more  blessed  the  awaken- 
ing; and  as  for  those  who  cannot  feel — 
well,  it  will  all  come  to  them,  as  they  grow 
older." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  it  has  done  me  good  to 
see  all  this — it  makes  many  things  plain; 
but  can  you  bear  to  leave  them  thus?  " 

"  Leave  them !  "  said  Amroth.  "  Who 
knows  but  that  I  shall  be  sent  to  help  them 
away,  and  carry  them,  as  I  carried  you,  to 
the  crystal  sea  of  peace?  The  darling 
mother,  I  shall  be  there  at  her  awakening. 
Tliey  are  old  spirits,  those  two,  old  and 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       127 

wise;  and  there  is  a  high  place  prepared 
for  them.'' 

"  But  what  about  Charles?  "  I  said. 

Amroth  smiled.  "Old  Charles?"  he 
said.  "  I  must  admit  that  he  is  not  a  very 
stirring  figure  at  present.  He  is  much  im- 
mersed in  his  game  of  finance,  and  talks  a 
great  deal  in  his  lighter  moments  about  the 
commercial  prospects  of  the  Empire  and  the 
need  of  retaliatory  tariffs.  But  he  will  out- 
grow all  that !  He  is  a  very  loyal  soul,  but 
not  very  adventurous  just  now.  He  would 
be  sadly  discomposed  by  an  affection  which 
came  in  between  him  and  his  figures.  He 
would  think  he  wanted  a  change — and  he 
will  have  a  thorough  one,  the  good  old  fel- 
low, one  of  these  days.  But  he  has  a  long 
journey  before  him." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  there  are  some  surprises 
here!     I  am  afraid  I  am  very  youthful  yet." 

"Yes,  dear  child,  you  are  very  ingenu- 
ous," said  Amroth,  "  and  that  is  a  great 
part  of  your  charm.  But  we  will  find  some- 
thing for  you  to  do  before  long!     But  here 


128       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

comes  Charmides,  to  talk  about  the  need 
of  exquisite  pulsations,  and  their  symbol- 
ism— though  I  see  a  change  in  him  too. 
And  now  I  must  go  back  to  business.  Take 
care  of  yourself,  and  I  will  be  back  to  tea.'' 
And  Amroth  flashed  away  in  a  very  cheerful 
mood. 


XV 


There  were  many  things  at  that  time  that 
were  full  of  mystery,  things  which  I  never 
came  to  understand.  There  was  in  particu- 
lar a  certain  sort  of  people,  whom  one 
met  occasionally,  for  whom  I  could  never 
wholly  account.  They  were  unlike  others 
in  this  fact,  that  they  never  appeared  to 
belong  to  any  particular  place  or  com- 
munity. They  were  both  men  and  women, 
who  seemed — I  can  express  it  in  no  other 
way — to  be  in  the  possession  of  a  secret  so 
great  that  it  made  everything  else  trivial 
and  indifferent  to  them.  Not  that  they  were 
impatient  or  contemptuous — it  was  quite  the 
other  way;  but  to  use  a  similitude,  they 
were  like  good-natured,  active,  kindly  elders 
at  a  children's  party.  They  did  not  shun 
conversation,  but  if  one  talked  with  them, 

they  used  a  kind  of  tender  and  gentle  irony, 
6  129 


I30       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

which  had  something  admiring  and  com- 
plimentary about  it,  which  took  away  any 
sense  of  vexation  or  of  baffled  curiosity.  It 
was  simply  as  though  their  concern  lay  else- 
where; they  joined  in  anything  with  a  frank 
delight,  not  with  any  touch  of  condescen- 
sion. They  were  even  more  kindly  and 
affectionate  than  others,  because  they  did 
not  seem  to  have  any  small  problems  of 
their  own,  and  could  give  their  whole  at- 
tention and  thought  to  the  person  they  were 
with.  These  inscrutable  people  puzzled  me 
very  much.  I  asked  Amroth  about  them 
once. 

"  Who  are  these  people,"  I  said,  "  whom 
one  sometimes  meets,  who  are  so  far  re- 
moved from  all  of  us?  What  are  they 
doing  here?  " 

Amroth  smiled.  "  So  you  have  detected 
them !  "  he  said.  "  You  are  quite  right,  and 
it  does  your  observation  credit.  But  you 
must  find  it  out  for  yourself.  I  cannot 
explain,  and  if  I  could,  you  would  not  un- 
derstand me  yet." 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       131 

"  Then  I  am  not  mistaken,"  I  said,  "  but 
I  wish  you  would  give  me  a  hint — they  seem 
to  know  something  more  worth  knowing 
than  all  beside." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Amroth.  "  You  are  very 
near  the  truth ;  it  is  staring  you  in  the  face ; 
but  it  would  spoil  all  if  I  told  you.  There 
is  plenty  about  them  in  the  old  books  you 
used  to  read — they  have  the  secret  of  joy." 
And  that  is  all  that  he  would  say. 

It  was  on  a  solitary  ramble  one  day,  out- 
side of  the  place  of  delight,  that  I  came 
nearer  to  one  of  these  people  than  I  ever 
did  at  any  other  time.  I  had  wandered  off 
into  a  pleasant  place  of  grassy  glades  with 
little  thorn-thickets  everywhere.  I  went  up 
a  small  eminence,  which  commanded  a  view 
of  the  beautiful  plain  with  its  blue  distance 
and  the  enamelled  green  foreground  of 
close-grown  coverts.  There  I  sat  for  a  long 
time  lost  in  pleasant  thought  and  wonder, 
when  I  saw  a  man  drawing  near,  walking 
slowly  and  looking  about  him  with  a  serene 
and  delighted  air.     He  passed  not  far  from 


132       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

me,  and  observing  me,  waved  a  hand  of 
welcome,  came  up  the  slope,  and  greeting 
me  in  a  friendly  and  open  manner,  asked 
if  he  might  sit  with  me  for  a  little. 

"  This  is  a  pleasant  place,"  he  said,  "  and 
you  seem  very  agreeably  occupied." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  looking  into  his  smiling 
face,  "  one  has  no  engagements  here,  and  no 
need  of  business  to  fill  the  time — but  indeed 
I  am  not  sure  that  I  am  busy  enough." 
As  I  spoke  I  was  regarding  him  with  some 
curiosity.  He  was  a  man  of  mature  age, 
with  a  strong,  firm-featured  face,  healthy 
and  sunburnt  of  aspect,  and  he  was  dressed, 
not  as  I  was  for  ease  and  repose,  but  with  the 
garments  of  a  traveller.  His  hat,  which 
was  large  and  of  some  soft  grey  cloth,  was 
pushed  to  his  back,  and  hung  there  by  a 
cord  round  his  neck.  His  hair  was  a  little 
grizzled,  and  lay  close-curled  to  his  head; 
in  his  strong  and  muscular  hand  he  carried 
a  stick.  He  smiled  again  at  my  words, 
and  said: 

"  Oh,  one  need  not  trouble  about  being 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       133 

busy  until  the  time  comes;  that  is  a  feeling 
one  inherits  from  the  life  of  earth,  and  I 
am  sure  you  have  not  left  it  long.  You 
have  a  very  fresh  air  about  you,  as  if  you 
had  rested,  and  rested  well." 

"  Yes,  I  have  rested,"  I  said ;  "  but  though 
I  am  content  enough,  there  is  something 
unquiet  in  me,  I  am  afraid !  " 

"  Ah ! "  he  said,  "  there  is  that  in  all  of 
us,  and  it  would  not  be  well  with  us  if 
there  were  not.  Will  you  tell  me  a  little 
about  yourself?  That  is  one  of  the  plea- 
sures of  this  life  here,  that  we  have  no  need 
to  be  cautious,  or  to  fear  that  we  shall 
give  ourselves  away." 

I  told  him  my  adventures,  and  he  listened 
with  serious  attention. 

"  Ah,  that  is  all  very  good,"  he  said  at 
last,  "  but  you  must  not  be  in  any  hurry ; 
it  is  a  great  thing  that  ideas  should  dawn 
upon  us  gradually — one  gets  the  full  truth 
of  them  so.  It  was  the  hurry  of  life  which 
was  so  bewildering — the  shocks,  the  sur- 
prises, the  ugly  reflections  of  one's  conduct 


134       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

that  one  saw  in  other  lives — the  corners  one 
had  to  turn.  Things,  indeed,  come  suddenly 
even  here,  but  one  is  led  up  to  them  gently 
enough;  allowed  to  enter  the  sea  for  one- 
self, not  soused  and  ducked  in  it.  You  will 
need  all  the  strength  you  can  store  up  for 
what  is  before  you,  and  I  can  see  in  your 
face  that  you  are  storing  up  strength — but 
the  weariness  is  not  quite  gone  out  of  your 
mind." 

He  was  silent  for  a  little,  musing,  till  I 
said,  "  Will  you  not  tell  me  some  of  your 
own  adventures?  I  am  sure  from  your  look 
that  you  have  them ;  and  you  are  a  pilgrim, 
it  seems.     Where  are  you  bound?  " 

"  Oh,"  he  said  lightly,  "  I  am  not  one  of 
the  people  who  have  adventures — ^just  the 
journey  and  the  talk  beside  the  way." 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  I  have  seen  some  others 
like  you,  and  I  am  puzzled  about  it.  You 
seem,  if  I  may  say  so — I  do  not  mean  any- 
thing disrespectful  or  impertinent — to  be 
like  the  gipsies  whom  one  meets  in  quiet 
country  places,  with  a  secret  knowledge  of 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       135 

their  own,  a  pride  too  great  to  be  worth 
expressing,  not  anxious  about  life,  not 
weary  or  dissatisfied,  caring  not  for  local- 
ities or  possessions,  but  with  a  sort  of  eager 
pleasure  in  freedom  and  movement." 

He  laughed.  "  Yes,'^  he  said,  "you  are 
right!  I  am  no  doubt  a  sort  of  nomad,  as 
you  say,  detached  from  life  perhaps.  I 
don^t  know  that  it  is  desirable;  there  is  a 
great  deal  to  be  said  for  living  in  the  same 
place  and  loving  the  same  things.  Most 
people  are  happier  so,  and  learn  what  they 
have  to  learn  in  that  manner." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  that  is  true  and  beauti- 
ful— the  same  old  house,  the  same  trees  and 
pastures,  the  stream  and  the  water-plants 
that  hide  it,  the  blue  hills  beyond  the  nearer 
wood — the  dear  familiar  things;  but  even 
so  the  road  which  passes  through  the  fields, 
over  the  bridge,  up  the  covert-side  ...  it 
leads  somewhere,  and  the  heart  on  sunny 
days  leaps  up  to  follow  it!  Talking  with 
you  here,  I  feel  a  hunger  for  something 
wider  and  more  free;  your  voice  has  the 


136       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

sound  of  the  wind,  with  the  secret  know- 
ledge of  strange  hill-tops  and  solitary  seas! 
Sometimes  the  heart  settles  down  upon 
wiiat  it  knows  and  loves,  but  sometimes  it 
reaches  out  to  all  the  love  and  beauty  hidden 
in  the  world,  and  in  the  waters  beyond  the 
world,  and  would  embrace  it  all  if  it  could. 
The  faces  one  sees  as  one  passes  through 
unfamiliar  cities  or  villages,  how  one  longs 
to  talk,  to  question,  to  ask  what  gave  them 
the  look  they  wear.  .  .  .  And  you,  if  I 
may  say  it,  seem  to  have  passed  beyond  the 
need  of  wanting  or  desiring  anything  .  .  . 
but  I  must  not  talk  thus  to  a  stranger; 
you  must  forgive  me." 

"  Forgive  you?  "  said  the  stranger;  "  that 
is  only  an  earthly  phrase — the  old  terror  of 
indiscretion  and  caution.  What  are  w^e 
here  for  but  to  get  acquainted  with  one  an- 
other— to  let  our  inmost  thoughts  talk  to- 
gether? In  the  world  we  are  bounded  by 
time  and  space,  and  we  have  the  terror  of 
each  other's  glances  and  exteriors  to  con- 
tend with.     We  make  friends  on  earth  in 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       137 

spite  of  our  limitations;  but  in  heaven  we 
get  to  know  each  other's  hearts;  and  that 
blessing  goes  back  with  us  to  the  dim  fields 
and  narrow  houses  of  the  earth.  I  see 
plainly  enough  that  you  are  not  perfectly 
happy;  but  one  can  only  win  content 
through  discontent.  Where  you  are  now, 
you  are  not  in  accord  with  the  souls  about 
you.  Never  mind  that!  There  are  beauti- 
ful spirits  within  reach  of  your  hand  and 
heart;  a  little  clouded  by  mistaking  the 
quality  of  joy,  no  doubt,  but  great  and  ever- 
lasting for  all  that.  You  must  try  to  draw 
near  to  them,  and  find  spirits  to  love.  Do 
you  not  remember  in  the  days  of  earth  how 
one  felt  sometimes  in  an  unfamiliar  place 
— among  a  gathering  of  strangers — at 
church  perhaps,  or  at  some  school  which 
one  visited,  where  one  saw  the  young  faces, 
which  showed  so  clearly,  before  the  world 
had  stamped  itself  in  frowns  and  heaviness 
upon  them,  the  quality  of  the  soul  within? 
Don't  you  remember  the  feeling  at  such 
times  of  how  many  there  were  in  the  world 


138       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

whom  one  might  love,  if  one  had  leisure 
and  opportunity  and  energy?  Well,  there 
is  no  need  to  resist  that,  or  to  deplore  it 
here;  one  may  go  where  one's  will  inclines 
one,  and  speak  as  one's  heart  tells  one  to 
speak.  I  think  you  are  perhaps  too  con- 
scious of  waiting  for  something.  Your  task 
lies  ahead  of  you,  but  the  work  of  love  can 
begin  at  once  and  anywhere." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  feel  that  now  and  here. 
Will  you  not  tell  me  something  of  yourself 
in  return?  I  cannot  read  your  mind  clearly 
— it  is  occupied  with  something  I  cannot 
grasp — what  is  your  work  in  heaven?  " 

"  Oh,"  he  said  lightly,  "  that  is  easy 
enough,  and  yet  you  would  not  understand 
it.  I  have  been  led  through  the  shadow 
of  fear,  and  I  have  passed  out  on  the  other 
side.  And  my  duty  is  to  release  others  from 
fear,  as  far  as  I  can.  It  is  the  darkest 
shadow  of  all,  because  it  dwells  in  the  un- 
known. Pain,  without  it,  is  no  suffering 
at  all;  indeed  pain  is  almost  a  pleasure, 
when  one  knows  what  it  is  doing  for  one. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       139 

But  fear  is  the  doubt  whether  pain  or  suf- 
fering are  really  helping  us;  and  just  as 
memory  never  has  any  touch  of  fear  about 
it,  so  hope  may  likewise  have  done  with 
fear." 

"  But  how  did  you  learn  this?  "  I  said. 

"  Only  by  fearing  to  the  uttermost,"  he 
replied.  "  The  power — it  is  not  courage, 
because  that  only  defies  fear — cannot  be 
given  one;  it  must  be  painfully  won.  You 
remember  the  blessing  of  the  pure  in  heart, 
that  they  shall  see  God?  There  would  be 
little  hope  in  that  promise  for  the  soul  that 
knew  itself  to  be  impure,  if  it  were  not  for 
the  other  side  of  it — that  the  vision  of  God, 
which  is  the  most  terrible  of  all  things,  can 
give  purity  to  the  most  sin-stained  soul. 
In  that  vision,  all  desire  and  all  fear  have 
an  end,  because  there  is  nothing  left  either 
to  desire  or  to  dread.  That  vision  we  may 
delay  or  hasten.  We  may  delay  it,  if  we 
allow  our  prudence,  or  our  shame,  or  our 
comfort,  to  get  in  the  way :  we  may  hasten 
it,  if  we  cast  ourselves  at  every  moment  of 


140       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

our  pilgrimage  upon  the  mercy  and  the  love 
of  God.  His  one  desire  is  that  we  should 
be  satisfied;  and  if  He  seems  to  put  ob- 
stacles in  our  way,  to  keep  us  waiting,  to 
permit  us  to  be  miserable,  that  is  only  that 
we  may  learn  to  cast  ourselves  into  love 
and  service — which  is  the  one  way  to  His 
heart.  But  now  I  must  be  going,  for  I 
have  said  all  that  you  can  bear.  Will  you 
remember  this — ^not  to  reserve  yourself,  not 
to  think  others  unworthy  or  hostile,  but  to 
cast  your  love  and  trust  freely  and  lavishly, 
everywhere  and  anywhere?  We  must  gather 
nothing,  hold  on  to  nothing,  just  give  our- 
selves away  at  every  moment,  flowing  like 
the  stream  into  every  channel  that  is  open, 
withholding  nothing,  retaining  nothing.  I 
see,''  he  added,  "very  great  and  beautiful 
things  ahead  of  you,  and  very  sad  and 
painful  things  as  well.  But  you  are  close 
to  the  light,  and  it  is  breaking  all  about 
you  with  a  splendour  which  you  cannot 
guess." 

He  rose  up,  he  took  my  hand  in  his  own 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       141 

and  laid  the  other  on  my  brow,  and  I  felt 
his  heart  go  out  to  mine  and  gather  me 
to  him,  as  a  child  is  gathered  to  a  father's 
arms.  And  then  he  went  silently  and 
lightly  upon  his  way. 


XVI 

The  time  moved  on  quietly  enough  in  the 
land  of  delight.  I  made  acquaintance  with 
quite  a  number  of  the  soft-voiced  contented 
folk.  Sometimes  it  interested  me  to  see  the 
change  coming  upon  one  or  another,  a 
wonder  or  a  desire  that  made  them  sit  with- 
drawn and  abstracted,  and  breaking  with 
a  sort  of  effort  out  of  the  dreamful  mood. 
Then  they  would  leave  us,  sometimes  quite 
suddenly,  sometimes  with  courteous  adieus. 
New-comers,  too,  kept  arriving,  to  be  made 
pleasantly  at  home.  I  found  myself  see- 
ing more  of  Cynthia.  She  was  much  with 
Lucius,  and  they  seemed  as  gay  as  ever, 
but  I  saw  that  she  was  sometimes  puzzled. 
She  said  to  me  one  day  as  we  sat  together, 
"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  this  is 
all  about?    I  do  not  want  to  change  it,  and 

I  am  very  happy,  but  isn't  it  all  rather 
142 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       143 

pointless?  I  believe  you  have  some  secret 
you  are  keeping  from  me."  She  was  sitting 
close  beside  me,  like  a  child,  resting  her 
head  on  my  arm,  and  she  took  my  hand 
in  both  of  hers. 

"  No,'^  I  said,  "  I  am  keeping  nothing 
from  you,  pretty  child!  I  could  not  ex- 
plain to  you  what  is  in  my  mind,  and  it 
would  spoil  your  pleasure  if  I  could.  It 
is  all  right,  and  you  will  see  in  good  time." 

"  I  hate  to  be  put  off  like  that,"  she  said. 
"  You  are  not  really  interested  in  me ;  and 
you  do  not  trust  me ;  you  do  not  care  about 
the  things  I  care  about,  and  if  you  are  so 
superior,  you  ought  to  explain  to  me  why." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I  will  try  to  explain. 
Do  you  ever  remember  having  been  very 
happy  in  a  place,  and  having  been  obliged 
to  leave  it,  always  hoping  to  return;  and 
then  when  you  did  return,  finding  that, 
though  nothing  was  changed,  you  were  your- 
self changed,  and  could  not,  even  if  you 
would,  have  taken  up  the  old  life  again?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Cynthia,  musing,  "  I  remem- 


144       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

ber  that  sort  of  thing  happening  once,  about 
a  house  where  I  stayed  as  a  child.  It 
seemed  so  stupid  and  dull  when  I  went 
back  that  I  wondered  how  I  could  ever  have 
really  liked  it." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  it  is  the  same  sort  of 
thing  here.  I  am  only  here  for  a  time,  and 
though  I  do  not  know  where  I  am  going 
or  when,  I  think  I  shall  not  be  here  much 
longer.'- 

At  this  Cynthia  did  what  she  had  never 
done  before — ^she  kissed  me.  Then  she  said, 
"  Don't  speak  of  such  disagreeable  things. 
I  could  not  get  on  without  you.  You  are 
so  convenient,  like  a  comfortable  eld  arm- 
chair." 

"What  a  compliment!"  I  said.  "But 
you  see  that  you  don't  like  my  explanation. 
Why  trouble  about  it?  You  have  plenty 
of  time.     Is  Lucius  like  an  arm-chair,  too?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  he  is  exciting,  like  a 
new  necklace — and  Charmides,  he  is  excit- 
ing too,  in  a  way,  but  rather  too  fine  for 
me,  like  a  ball-dress !  " 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       145 

"  Yes/'  I  said,  "  I  noticed  that  your  own 
taste  in  dress  is  different  of  late.  This  is 
a  much  simpler  thing  than  what  you  came 
in." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "  it  does  n't  seem 
worth  while  to  dress  up  now.  I  have  made 
my  friends,  and  I  suppose  I  am  getting 
lazy." 

We  said  little  more,  but  she  did  not  seem 
inclined  to  leave  me,  and  was  more  with 
me  for  a  time.  I  actually  heard  her  tell 
Lucius  once  that  she  was  tired,  at  which 
he  laughed,  not  very  pleasantly,  and  went 
away. 

But  my  own  summons  came  to  me  so  un- 
expectedly that  I  had  but  little  time  to 
make  my  farewell. 

I  was  sitting  once  in  a  garden-close  watch- 
ing a  curious  act  proceeding,  which  I  did 
not  quite  understand.  It  looked  like  a  re- 
ligious ceremony;  a  man  in  embroidered 
robes  was  being  conducted  by  some  boys  in 
white  dresses  through  the  long  cloister,  car- 
rying something  carefully  wrapped  up  in 


146       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

his  arms,  and  I  heard  what  sounded  like 
an  antique  hymn  of  a  fine  stiff  melody, 
rapidly  sung. 

There  had  been  nothing  quite  like  this 
before,  and  I  suddenly  became  aware  that 
Amroth  was  beside  me,  and  that  he  had  a 
look  of  anger  in  his  face.  "  You  had  better 
not  look  at  this,"  he  said  to  me ;  "  it  might 
not  be  very  helpful,  as  they  say." 

"  Am  I  to  come  with  you? "  I  said. 
"  That  is  well — but  I  should  like  to  say  a 
word  to  one  or  two  of  my  friends  here." 

"  No,  not  a  word !  "  said  Amroth  quickly. 
He  looked  at  me  with  a  curious  look,  in 
which  he  seemed  to  be  measuring  my 
strength  and  courage.  "  Yes,  that  will 
do !  "  he  added.  "  Come  at  once — don't  be 
surprised — it  will  be  different  from  what 
you  expect." 

He  took  me  by  the  arm,  and  we  hurried 
from  the  place;  one  or  two  of  the  people 
who  stood  by  looked  at  us  in  lazy  wonder. 
We  walked  in  silence  down  a  long  alley, 
to  a  great  gate  that  I  had  often  passed  in 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       147 

my  strolls.  It  was  a  barred  iron  gate,  of 
a  very  stately  air,  with  high  stone  gate- 
posts. I  had  never  been  able  to  find  my 
outward  way  to  this,  and  there  was  a  view 
from  it  of  enchanting  beauty,  blue  distant 
woods  and  rolling  slopes.  Amroth  came 
quickly  to  the  gate,  seemed  to  unlock  it, 
and  held  it  open  for  me  to  pass.  "  One 
word,"  he  said  with  his  most  beautiful 
smile,  his  eyes  flashing  and  kindling  with 
some  secret  emotion,  "  whatever  happens, 
do  not  be  afraid!  There  is  nothing  what- 
ever to  fear,  only  be  prepared  and  wait." 
He  motioned  me  through,  and  I  heard  him 
close  the  gate  behind  me. 


XVII 

I  WAS  alone  in  an  instant,  and  in  terrible 
pain — pain  not  in  any  part  of  me,  but  all 
around  and  within  me.  A  cold  wind  of  a 
piercing  bitterness  seemed  to  blow  upon  me; 
but  with  it  came  a  sense  of  immense  energy 
and  strength,  so  that  the  pain  became  sud- 
denly delightful,  like  the  stretching  of  a 
stiffened  limb.  I  cannot  put  the  pain  into 
exact  words.  It  was  not  attended  by  any 
horror;  it  seemed  a  sense  of  infinite  grief 
and  loss  and  loneliness,  a  deep  yearning  to 
be  delivered  and  made  free.  I  felt  suddenly 
as  though  everything  I  loved  had  gone  from 
nle,  irretrievably  gone  and  lost.  I  looked 
round  me,  and  I  could  discern  through  a 
mist  the  bases  of  some  black  and  sinister 
rocks,  that  towered  up  intolerably  above 
me;  in  between  them  were  channels  full  of 

stones  and  drifted  snow.     Anything  more 

148 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       149 

stupendous  than  those  black-ribbed  crags, 
those  toppling  precipices,  I  had  never  seen. 
The  wind  howled  among  them,  and  some- 
times there  was  a  noise  of  rocks  cast  down. 
I  knew  in  some  obscure  way  that  my  path 
lay  there,  and  my  heart  absolutely  failed 
me.  Instead  of  going  straight  to  the  rocks, 
I  began  to  creep  along  the  base  to  see 
whether  I  could  find  some  easier  track. 
Suddenly  the  voice  of  Amroth  said,  rather 
sharply,  in  my  ear,  "  Don't  be  silly ! " 
This  homely  direction,  so  peremptorily 
made,  had  an  instantaneous  effect.  If  he 
had  said,  "  Be  not  faithless,"  or  anything 
in  the  copybook  manner,  I  should  have  sat 
down  and  resigned  myself  to  solemn  de- 
spair. But  now  I  felt  a  fool  and  a  coward 
as  well. 

So  I  addressed  myself,  like  a  dog  who 
hears  the  crack  of  a  whip,  to  the  rocks. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  relate  how  I 
clambered  and  stumbled  and  agonised. 
There  did  not  seem  to  me  the  slightest  use 
in    making   the   attempt,   or   the   smallest 


150       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

hope  of  reaching  the  top,  or  the  least  ex- 
pectation of  finding  anything  worth  find- 
ing. I  hated  everything  I  had  ever  seen 
or  known ;  recollections  of  old  lives  and  of 
the  quiet  garden  I  had  left  came  upon  me 
with  a  sort  of  mental  nausea.  This  was 
very  different  from  the  amiable  and  easy- 
going treatment  I  had  expected.  Yet  I  did 
struggle  on,  with  a  hideous  faintness  and 
weariness — but  would  it  never  stop?  It 
seemed  like  years  to  me,  my  hands  frozen 
and  wetted  by  snow  and  dripping  water, 
my  feet  bruised  and  wounded  by  sharp 
stones,  my  garments  strangely  torn  and 
rent,  with  stains  of  blood  showing  through 
in  places.  Still  the  hideous  business 
continued,  but  progress  was  never  quite 
impossible.  At  one  place  I  found  the 
rocks  wholly  impassable,  and  choosing  the 
broader  of  two  ledges  which  ran  left  and 
right,  I  worked  out  along  the  cliff,  only  to 
find  that  the  ledge  ran  into  the  precipices, 
and  I  had  to  retrace  my  steps,  if  the  shuf- 
fling motions  I  made  could  be  so  called. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       151 

Then  I  took  the  harder  of  the  two,  which 
zigzagged  backwards  and  forwards  across 
the  rocks.  At  one  place  I  saw  a  thing 
which  moved  me  very  strangely.  This  was 
a  heap  of  bones,  green,  slimy,  and  ill-smell- 
ing, with  some  tattered  rags  of  cloth  about 
them,  which  lay  in  a  heap  beneath  a  preci- 
pice. The  thought  that  a  man  could  fall 
and  be  killed  in  such  a  place  moved  me 
with  a  fresh  misery.  What  that  meant  I 
could  not  tell.  Were  we  not  away  from 
such  things  as  mouldering  flesh  and  broken 
bones?  It  seemed  not ;  and  I  climbed  madly 
away  from  them.  Quite  suddenly  I  came 
to  the  top,  a  bleak  platform  of  rock,  where 
I  fell  prostrate  on  my  face  and  groaned. 

"  Yes,  that  was  an  ugly  business,''  said 
the  voice  of  Amroth  beside  me,  "  but  you 
got  through  it  fairly  well.  How  do  you 
feel?  " 

"  I  call  it  a  perfect  outrage,"  I  said. 
"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  hateful 
business?  " 

"The  meaning?"  said  Amroth;  "never 


152       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

mind  about  the  meaning.  The  point  is  that 
you  are  here !  " 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  "  I  have  had  a  horrible 
time.  All  my  sense  of  security  is  gone  from 
me.  Is  one  indeed  liable  to  this  kind  of 
interruption,  Amroth?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Amroth,  "  there  must 
be  some  tests;  but  you  will  be  better  very 
soon.  It  is  all  over  for  the  present,  I  may 
tell  you,  and  you  will  soon  be  able  to  enjoy 
it.  There  is  no  terror  in  past  suffering — 
it  is  the  purest  joy." 

"  Yes,  I  used  to  say  so  and  think  so,"  I 
said,  closing  my  eyes.  "  But  this  was  dif- 
ferent— it  w^as  horrible!  And  the  time  it 
lasted,  and  the  despair  of  it!  It  seems  to 
have  soaked  into  my  whole  life  and  poisoned 
it." 

Amroth  said  nothing  for  a  minute,  but 
Avatched  me  closely. 

Presently  I  went  on.  "  And  tell  me  one 
thing.  There  was  a  ghastly  thing  I  saw, 
some  mouldering  bones  on  a  ledge.  Can 
people  indeed  fall  and  die  there?  " 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       153 

"  Perhaps  it  was  only  a  phantom,"  said 
Amroth,  "  put  there  like  the  sights  in  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress ,  the  fire  that  was  fed 
secretly  with  oil,  and  the  robin  with  his 
mouth  full  of  spiders,  as  an  encouragement 
for  wayfarers ! " 

"  But  that,"  I  said,  "  would  be  too  horri- 
ble for  anything — to  turn  the  terrors  of 
death  into  a  sort  of  conjuring  trick — a 
dramatic  entertainment,  to  make  one's  flesh 
creep!  Why,  that  was  the  misery  of  some 
of  the  religion  taught  us  in  old  days,  that 
it  seemed  often  only  dramatic — a  scene 
without  cause  or  motive,  just  displayed  to 
show  us  the  anger  or  the  mercy  of  God,  so 
that  one  had  the  miserable  sense  that  much 
of  it  was  a  spectacular  affair,  that  He  Him- 
self did  not  really  suffer  or  feel  indignation, 
but  thought  it  well  to  feign  emotions,  like 
a  schoolmaster  to  impress  his  pupils — and 
that  people  too  were  not  punished  for  their 
own  sakes,  to  help  them,  but  just  to  startle 
or  convince  others." 

"  Yes,"  said  Amroth,  "  I  was  only  jesting, 


154       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

and  I  see  that  my  jests  were  out  of  place. 
Of  course  what  you  saw  was  real — there 
are  no  pretences  here.  Men  and  women  do 
indeed  suffer  a  kind  of  death — the  second 
death — in  these  places,  and  have  to  begin 
again;  but  that  is  only  for  a  certain  sort 
of  self-confident  and  sin-soaked  person, 
whose  will  needs  to  be  roughly  broken. 
There  are  certain  perverse  sins  of  the  spirit 
which  need  a  spiritual  death,  as  the  sins  of 
the  body  need  a  bodily  death.  Only  thus 
can  one  be  born  again." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  am  amazed — but  now 
what  am  I  to  do?  I  am  fit  for  nothing,  and 
I  shall  be  fit  for  nothing  hereafter." 

"  If  you  talk  like  this,"  said  Amroth, 
"you  will  only  drive  me  away.  There  are 
certain  things  that  it  is  better  not  to  con- 
fess to  one's  dearest  friend,  not  even  to 
God.  One  must  just  be  silent  about 
them,  try  to  forget  them,  hope  they  can 
never  happen  again.  I  tell  you,  you  will 
soon  be  all  right;  and  if  you  are  not  you 
will   have   to   see   a   physician.     But   you 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       155 

had  better  not  do  that  unless  you  are 
obliged." 

This  made  me  feel  ashamed  of  myself, 
and  the  shame  took  off  my  thoughts  from 
what  I  had  endured ;  but  I  could  do  nothing 
but  lie  aching  and  panting  on  the  rocks  for 
a  long  time,  while  Amroth  sat  beside  me 
in  silence. 

"Are  you  vexed?"  I  said  after  a  long 
pause. 

"  No,  no,  not  vexed,"  said  Amroth,  "  but 
I  am  not  sure  whether  I  have  not  made  a 
mistake.  It  was  I  who  urged  that  you 
might  go  forward,  and  I  confess  I  am  dis- 
appointed at  the  result.  You  are  softer 
than  I  thought." 

"  Indeed  I  am  not,"  I  said.  "  I  will  go 
down  the  rocks  and  come  up  again,  if  that 
will  satisfy  you." 

"  Come,  that  is  a  little  better,"  said  Am- 
roth, "  and  I  will  tell  you  now  that  you 
did  well — better  indeed  at  the  time  than 
I  expected.  You  did  the  thing  in  very  good 
time,  as  we  used  to  say." 


156       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

By  this  time  I  felt  very  drowsy,  and  sud- 
denly dropped  off  into  a  sleep — snch  a  deep 
and  dreamless  sleep,  to  descend  into  which 
was  like  flinging  oneself  into  a  river-pool 
by  a  bubbling  weir  on  a  hot  and  dusty  day 
of  summer. 

I  awoke  suddenly  with  a  pressure  on  my 
arm,  and,  waking  up  with  a  sense  of  re- 
newed freshness,  I  saw  Amroth  looking  at 
me  anxiously.  "  Do  not  say  anything,"  he 
said.  "  Can  you  manage  to  hobble  a  few 
steps?  If  you  cannot,  I  will  get  some  help, 
and  w^e  shall  be  all  right — but  there  may 
be  an  unpleasant  encounter,  and  it  is  best 
avoided."  I  scrambled  to  my  feet,  and  Am- 
roth helped  me  a  little  higher  up  the  rocks, 
looking  carefully  into  the  mist  as  he  did  so. 
Close  behind  us  was  a  steep  rock  with 
ledges.  Amroth  flung  himself  upon  them, 
with  an  agile  scramble  or  two.  Then  he 
held  his  hand  down,  lying  on  the  top;  I 
took  it,  and,  stiffened  as  I  was,  I  con- 
trived to  get  up  beside  him.  "  That  is 
right,"  he  said  in  a  whisper.      "  Now  lie 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       157 

here  quietly,  don't  speak  a  word,  and  just 
watch." 

I  lay,  with  a  sense  of  something  evil 
about.  Presently  I  heard  the  sound  of 
voices  in  the  mist  to  the  left  of  us;  and  in 
an  instant  there  loomed  out  of  the  mist  the 
form  of  a  man,  who  was  immediately  fol- 
lowed by  three  others.  They  were  different 
from  all  the  other  spirits  I  had  yet  seen — 
tall,  lean,  dark  men,  very  spare  and  strong. 
They  looked  carefully  about  them,  mostly 
glancing  down  the  cliff,  and  sometimes 
conferred  together.  They  were  dressed  in 
close-fitting  dark  clothes,  which  seemed  as 
if  made  out  of  some  kind  of  skin  or  un- 
tanned  leather,  and  their  whole  air  was 
sinister  and  terrifying.  They  passed  quite 
close  beneath  us,  so  that  I  saw  the  bald 
head  of  one  of  them,  who  carried  a  sort  of 
hook  in  his  hands. 

When  they  got  to  the  place  where  my 
climb  had  ended,  they  stopped  and  exam- 
ined the  stones  carefully :  one  of  them 
clambered  a  few  feet  down  the  cliff.     Then 


158       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

he  came  back  and  seemed  to  make  a  brief 
report,  after  which  they  appeared  undecided 
what  to  do ;  they  even  looked  up  at  the  rock 
where  we  lay;  but  while  they  did  this,  an- 
other man,  very  similar,  came  hurriedly  out 
of  the  mist,  said  something  to  the  group, 
and  they  all  disappeared  very  quickly  into 
tlie  darkness  the  same  way  they  had  come. 
Then  there  was  a  silence.  I  should  have 
spoken,  but  Amroth  put  a  finger  on  his  lips. 
Presently  there  came  a  sound  of  falling 
scones,  and  after  that  there  broke  out 
among  the  rocks  below  a  horrible  crying, 
as  of  a  man  in  sore  straits  and  instant  fear. 
Amroth  jumped  quickly  to  his  feet.  "  This 
will  not  do,"  he  said.  "  Stay  here  for  me.'* 
And  then  leaping  down  the  rock,  he  disap- 
peared, shouting  words  of  help — "  Hold  on 
— I  am  coming." 

He  came  back  some  little  time  afterwards, 
and  I  saw  that  he  was  not  alone.  He  had 
with  him  an  old  stumbling  man,  evidently 
in  the  last  extremity  of  terror  and  pain, 
with  beads  of  sweat  on  his  brow  and  blood 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       159 

running  down  from  his  hands.  He  seemed 
dazed  and  bewildered.  And  Amroth  too 
looked  ruffled  and  almost  weary,  as  I  had 
never  seen  him  look.  I  came  down  the  rock 
to  meet  them.  But  Amroth  said,  "  Wait 
here  for  me;  it  has  been  a  troublesome  busi- 
ness, and  I  must  go  and  bestow  this  poor 
creature  in  a  place  of  safety — I  will  re- 
turn." He  led  the  old  man  away  among 
the  rocks,  and  I  waited  a  long  time,  won- 
dering very  heavily  what  it  was  that  I  had 
seen. 

When  Amroth  came  back  to  the  rock  he 
was  fresh  and  smiling  again  :  he  swung  him- 
self up,  and  sat  by  me,  with  his  hands 
clasped  round  his  knees.  Then  he  looked 
at  me,  and  said,  "  I  daresay  you  are  sur- 
prised? You  did  not  expect  to  see  such 
terrors  and  dangers  here?  And  it  is  a  great 
mystery." 

"  You  must  be  kind,"  I  said,  "  and  ex- 
plain to  me  what  has  happened." 

"  Well,"  said  Amroth,  "  there  is  a  large 
gang  of  men   who   infest  this  place,  who 


i6o       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

have  got  up  here  by  their  agility,  and  can 
go  no  further,  who  make  it  their  business 
to  prevent  all  they  can  from  coming  up. 
I  confess  that  it  is  the  hardest  thing  of 
all  to  understand  why  it  is  allowed;  but 
if  you  expect  all  to  be  plain  sailing  up  here, 
you  are  mistaken.  One  needs  to  be  wary 
and  strong.  They  do  much  harm  here,  and 
will  continue  to  do  it." 

"  What  would  have  happened  if  they  had 
found  us  here?  "  I  said. 

"  Nothing  very  much,"  said  Amroth ; 
"  a  good  deal  of  talk  no  doubt,  and  some 
blows  perhaps.  But  it  was  well  I  was 
with  you,  because  I  could  have  summoned 
help.  They  are  not  as  strong  as  they 
look  either — it  is  mostly  fear  that  aids 
them." 

"  Well,  but  who  are  they?  "  I  said. 

"  They  are  the  most  troublesome  crew  of 
all,"  said  Amroth,  "  and  come  nearest  to 
the  old  idea  of  fiends — they  are  indeed  the 
origin  of  that  notion.  To  speak  plainly, 
thev  are  men  who  have  lived  virtuous  lives, 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       i6i 

and  have  done  cruel  things  from  good 
motives.  There  are  some  kings  and  states- 
men among  them,  but  they  are  mostly 
priests  and  schoolmasters,  I  imagine — peo- 
ple with  high  ideals,  of  course!  But  they 
are  not  replenished  so  fast  as  they  used  to 
be,  I  think.  Their  difficulty  is  that  they 
can  never  see  that  they  are  wrong.  Their 
notion  is  that  this  is  a  bad  place  to 
come  to,  and  that  people  are  better  left  in 
ignorance  and  bliss,  obedient  and  submis- 
sive. A  good  many  of  them  have  given  up 
the  old  rough  methods,  and  hang  about  the 
base  of  the  cliff,  dissuading  souls  from 
climbing:  they  do  the  most  harm  of  all, 
because  if  one  does  turn  back  here,  it  is  long 
before  one  may  make  a  new  attempt.  But 
enough  of  this,"  he  added ;  "  it  makes  me 
sick  to  think  of  them — the  old  fellow  you 
saw  with  me  had  an  awful  fright — he  was 
nearly  done  as  it  was !  But  I  see  you  are 
feeling  stronger,  and  I  think  we  had  better 
be  going.  One  does  not  stay  here  by  choice, 
though  the  place  has  a  beauty  of  its  own. 


1 62       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

And  now  you  will  have  an  easier  time  for 
awhile." 

We  descended  from  our  rock,  and  Amroth 
led  the  way,  through  a  long  cleft,  with  rocks, 
very  rough  and  black,  on  either  side,  and 
fallen  fragments  under  foot.  It  was  steep 
at  first;  but  soon  the  rocks  grew  lower; 
and  we  came  out  presently  on  to  a  great 
desolate  plain,  with  stones  lying  thickly 
about,  among  a  coarse  kind  of  grass.  At 
each  step  I  seemed  to  grow  stronger,  and 
walked  more  lightly,  and  in  the  thin  fine 
air  my  horrors  left  me,  though  I  still  had 
a  dumb  sense  of  suffering  which,  strange 
to  say,  I  found  it  almost  pleasant  to  resist. 
And  so  we  walked  for  a  time  in  friendly 
silence,  Amroth  occasionally  indicating  the 
w^ay.  The  hill  began  to  slope  downwards 
very  slowly,  and  the  wind  to  subside.  The 
mist  drew  off  little  by  little,  till  at  last 
I  saw  ahead  of  us  a  great  bare-looking 
fortress  with  high  walls  and  little  windows, 
and  a  great  blank  tower  over  all. 


XVIII 

We  were  received  at  the  guarded  door  of 
the  fortress  by  a  porter,  who  seemed  to  be 
well  acquainted  with  Amroth.  Within,  it 
was  a  big,  bare  place,  with  stone-arched 
cloisters  and  corridors,  more  like  a  monas- 
tery than  a  castle.  Amroth  led  me  briskly 
along  the  passages,  and  took  me  into  a  large 
room  very  sparely  furnished,  where  an 
elderly  man  sat  writing  at  a  table  with 
his  back  to  the  light.  He  rose  when  we 
entered,  and  I  had  a  sudden  sense  that  I 
was  coming  to  school  again,  as  indeed  I 
was.  Amroth  greeted  him  with  a  mixture 
of  freedom  and  respect,  as  a  well-loved  pupil 
might  treat  an  old  schoolmaster.  The  man 
himself  was  tall  and  upright,  and  serious- 
looking,  but  for  a  twinkle  of  humour  that 
lurked  in  his  eye ;  yet  I  felt  he  was  one  who 

expected  to  be  obeyed.      He  took  Amroth 
163 


i64       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

into  the  embrasure  of  a  window,  and  talked 
with  him  in  low  tones.  Then  he  came  back 
to  me  and  asked  me  a  few  questions  of 
which  I  did  not  then  understand  the  drift 
— but  it  seemed  a  kind  of  very  informal 
examination.  Then  he  made  us  a  little  bow 
of  dismissal,  and  sat  down  at  once  to  his 
writing  without  giving  us  another  look.  Am- 
roth  took  me  out,  and  led  me  up  many  stone 
stairs,  along  whitewashed  passages,  with 
narrow  windows  looking  out  on  the  plain, 
to  a  small  cell  or  room  near  the  top  of 
the  castle.  It  was  very  austerely  furnished, 
but  it  had  a  little  door  which  took  us  out 
on  the  leads,  and  I  then  saw  what  a  very 
large  place  the  fortress  was,  consisting  of 
several  courts  with  a  great  central  tower. 

"  Where  on  earth  have  we  got  to  now?  " 
I  said. 

"  Nowhere  '  on  earth/  ^'  said  Amroth. 
"  You  are  at  school  again,  and  you  will 
find  it  very  interesting,  I  hope  and  expect, 
but  it  will  be  hard  work.  I  will  tell  you 
plainly  that  you  are  lucky  to  be  here,  be- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       165 

cause  if  you  do  well,  you  will  have  the  best 
sort  of  work  to  do.'' 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do,  and  where  am 
I  to  go?  "  I  said.  "  I  feel  like  a  new  boy, 
with  all  sorts  of  dreadful  rules  in  the 
background.'' 

"  That  will  all  be  explained  to  you,"  said 
Amroth.  "  And  now  good-bye  for  the  pre- 
sent. Let  me  hear  a  good  report  of  you," 
he  added,  with  a  parental  air,  "  when  I 
come  again.  What  would  not  we  older  fel- 
lows give  to  be  back  here ! "  he  added  with 
a  half -mocking  smile.  "Let  me  tell  you, 
my  boy,  you  have  got  the  happiest  time  of 
your  life  ahead  of  you.  Well,  be  a  credit 
to  your  friends !  " 

He  gave  me  a  nod  and  was  gone.  I 
stood  for  a  little  looking  out  rather  deso- 
lately into  the  plain.  There  came  a  brisk 
tap  at  my  door,  and  a  man  entered.  He 
greeted  me  pleasantly,  gave  me  a  few  direc- 
tions, and  I  gathered  that  he  was  one  of 
the  instructors.  "  You  will  find  it  hard 
work,"  he  said ;  "  we  do  not  waste  time  here. 


i66       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

But  I  gather  that  you  have  had  rather  a 
troublesome  ascent,  so  you  can  rest  a 
little.  When  you  are  required,  you  will  be 
summoned." 

When  he  left  me,  I  still  felt  very  weary, 
and  lay  down  on  a  little  couch  in  the  room, 
falling  presently  asleep.  I  was  roused  by 
the  entry  of  a  young  man,  who  said  he  had 
been  sent  to  fetch  me :  we  went  down  along 
the  passages,  while  he  talked  pleasantly  in 
low  tones  about  the  arrangements  of  the 
place.  As  we  went  along  the  passages,  the 
doors  of  the  cells  kept  opening,  and  we  were 
joined  by  young  men  and  women,  who  si)oke 
to  me  or  to  each  other,  but  all  in  the  same 
subdued  voices,  till  at  last  we  entered  a 
big,  bare,  arched  room,  lit  by  high  windows, 
with  rows  of  seats,  and  a  great  desk  or 
pulpit  at  the  end.  I  looked  round  me  in 
great  curiosity.  There  must  have  been  sev- 
eral hundred  people  present,  sitting  in  rows. 
There  was  a  murmur  of  talk  over  the  hall, 
till  a  bell  suddenly  sounded  somewhere  in 
the  castle,  a  door  opened,  a  man  stepped 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       167 

quickly  into  the  pulpit,  and  began  to  speak 
in  a  very  clear  and  distinct  tone. 

The  discourse — and  all  the  other  dis- 
courses to  which  I  listened  in  the  place — 
was  of  a  psychological  kind,  dealing  en- 
tirely with  the  relations  of  human  beings 
with  each  other,  and  the  effect  and  inter- 
play of  emotions.  It  was  extremely  scien- 
tific, but  couched  in  the  simplest  phraseo- 
logy, and  made  many  things  clear  to  me 
which  had  formerly  been  obscure.  There 
is  nothing  in  the  world  so  bewildering  as 
the  selective  instinct  of  humanity,  the  rea- 
sons which  draw  people  to  each  other,  the 
attractive  power  of  similarity  and  dis- 
similarity, the  effects  of  class  and  caste, 
the  abrupt  approaches  of  passion,  the  in- 
fluence of  the  body  on  the  soul  and  of  the 
soul  on  the  body.  It  came  upon  me  with 
a  shock  of  surprise  that  while  these  things 
are  the  most  serious  realities  in  the  world, 
and  undoubtedly  more  important  than  any 
other  thing,  little  attempt  is  made  by  hu- 
manity to  unravel  or  classify  them.     I  can- 


i68       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

not  here  enter  into  the  details  of  these 
instructions,  which  indeed  would  be  unin- 
telligible, but  they  showed  me  at  first  what 
I  had  not  at  all  apprehended,  namely  the 
proportionate  importance  and  unimport- 
ance of  all  the  passions  and  emotions  which 
regulate  our  relations  with  other  souls. 
These  discourses  were  given  at  regular  in- 
tervals, and  much  of  our  time  was  spent 
in  discussing  together  or  working  out  in 
solitude  the  details  of  psychological  pro- 
blems, which  we  did  with  the  exactness  of 
chemical  analysis. 

What  I  soon  came  to  understand  was  that 
the  whole  of  psychology  is  ruled  by  the  most 
exact  and  immutable  laws,  in  which  there 
is  nothing  fortuitous  or  abnormal,  and  that 
the  exact  course  of  an  emotion  can  be  pre- 
dicted with  perfect  certainty  if  only  all  the 
data  are  known. 

One  of  the  most  striking  parts  of  these 
discourses  was  the  fact  that  they  were  ac- 
companied by  illustrations.  I  will  describe 
the  first  of  these  which  I  saw.     The  lee- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       169 

turer  stopped  for  an  instant  and  held  up 
his  hand.  In  the  middle  of  one  of  the  side- 
walls  of  the  room  was  a  great  shallow^ 
arched  recess.  In  this  recess  there  sud- 
denly appeared  a  scene,  not  as  though  it 
were  cast  by  a  lantern  on  the  wall,  but  as 
if  the  wall  were  broken  down,  and  showed 
a  room  beyond. 

In  the  room,  a  comfortably  furnished 
apartment,  there  sat  two  people,  a  husband 
and  wife,  middle-aged  people,  who  were  en- 
gaged in  a  miserable  dispute  about  some 
very  trivial  matter.  The  wife  was  shrill 
and  provocative,  the  husband  curt  and  con- 
temptuous. They  were  obviously  not  really 
concerned  about  the  subject  they  were  dis- 
cussing— it  only  formed  a  ground  for  dis- 
agreeable personalities.  Presently  the  man 
went  out,  saying  harshly  that  it  was  very 
pleasant  to  come  back  from  his  work,  day 
after  day,  to  these  scenes;  to  which  the 
woman  fiercely  retorted  that  it  was  all  his 
own  fault;  and  when  he  was  gone,  she  sat 
for  a  time  mechanically  knitting,  with  the 


170       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

tears  trickling  down  her  cheeks,  and  every 
now  and  then  glancing  at  the  door.  After 
which,  with  great  secrecy,  she  helped  her- 
self to  some  spirits  which  she  took  from  a 
cupboard. 

The  scene  was  one  of  the  most  vulgar 
and  debasing  that  can  be  described  or  imag- 
ined; and  it  was  curious  to  watch  the 
expressions  on  the  faces  of  my  companions. 
They  wore  the  air  of  trained  doctors  or 
nurses,  watching  some  disagreeable  symp- 
toms, with  a  sort  of  trained  and  serene 
compassion,  neither  shocked  nor  grieved. 
Then  the  situation  was  discussed  and  ana- 
lysed, and  various  suggestions  were  made 
which  were  dealt  with  by  the  lecturer,  in 
a  way  which  showed  me  that  there  was 
much  for  us  to  master  and  to  understand. 

There  were  many  other  such  illustrations 
given.  They  were,  I  discovered,  by  no 
means  imaginary  cases,  projected  into  our 
minds  by  a  kind  of  mental  suggestion,  but 
actual  things  happening  upon  earth.  We 
saw  many  strange  scenes  of  tragedy,  we  had 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       171 

a  glimpse  of  lunatic  asylums  and  hospitals, 
of  murder  even,  and  of  evil  passions  of 
anger  and  lust.  We  saw  scenes  of  grief 
and  terror ;  and,  stranger  still,  we  saw  many 
things  that  were  being  enacted  not  on  the 
earth,  but  upon  other  planets,  where  the 
forms  and  appearances  of  the  creatures  con- 
cerned were  fantastic  and  strange  enough, 
but  where  the  motive  and  the  emotion  were 
all  perfectly  clear.  At  times,  too,  we  saw 
scenes  that  were  beautiful  and  touching, 
high  and  heroic  beyond  words.  These 
seemed  to  come  rather  by  contrast  and  for 
encouragement ;  for  the  work  was  distinctly 
pathological,  and  dealt  with  the  disas-ters 
and  complications  of  emotions,  as  a  rule, 
rather  than  with  their  glories  and  radiances. 
But  it  was  all  incredibly  absorbing  and  in- 
teresting, though  what  it  was  to  lead  up 
to  I  did  not  quite  discern.  What  struck 
me  was  the  concentration  of  effort  upon  hu- 
man emotion,  and  still  more  the  fact  that 
other  hopes  and  passions,  such  as  ambition 
and  acquisitiveness,  as  well  as  all  material 


172       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

and  economic  problems,  were  treated  as  in- 
finitely insignificant,  as  just  the  framework 
of  human  life,  only  interesting  in  so  far  as 
the  baser  and  meaner  elements  of  circum- 
stance can  just  influence,  refining  or  coars- 
ening, the  highest  traits  of  character  and 
emotion. 

We  were  given  special  cases,  too,  to  study 
and  consider,  and  here  I  had  the  first  ink- 
ling of  how  far  it  is  possible  for  disem- 
bodied spirits  to  be  in  touch  with  those  who 
are  still  in  the  body. 

As  far  as  I  can  see,  no  direct  intellectual 
contact  is  possible,  except  under  certain  cir- 
cumstances. There  is,  of  course,  a  great 
deal  of  thought-vibration  taking  place  in 
the  world,  to  which  the  best  analogy  is  wire- 
less telegraphy.  There  exists  an  all-per- 
vading emotional  medium,  into  which  every 
thought  that  is  tinged  with  emotion  sends 
a  ripple.  Thoughts  which  are  concerned 
with  personal  emotion  send  the  firmest 
ripple  into  this  medium,  and  all  other 
thoughts  and  passions  affect  it,  not  in  pro- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       173 

portion  to  the  intensity  of  the  thought,  but 
to  the  nature  of  the  thought.  The  scale  is 
perfectly  determined  and  quite  unalterable ; 
thus  a  thought,  however  strong  and  intense, 
which  is  concerned  with  wealth  or  with 
personal  ambition  sends  a  very  little  ripple 
into  the  medium,  while  a  thought  of  affec- 
tion is  very  noticeable  indeed,  and  more 
noticeable  in  proportion  as  it  is  purer  and 
less  concerned  with  any  kind  of  bodily  pas- 
sion. Thus,  strange  to  say,  the  thought  of 
a  father  for  a  child  is  a  stronger  thought 
than  that  of  a  lover  for  his  beloved.  I  do 
not  know  the  exact  scale  of  force,  which 
is  as  exact  as  that  of  chemical  values — and 
of  course  such  emotions  are  apt  to  be  com- 
plex and  intricate;  but  the  purer  and 
simpler  the  thought  is,  the  greater  is  its 
force.  Perhaps  the  prayers  that  one  prays 
for  those  whom  one  loves  send  the  strongest 
ripple  of  all.  If  it  happens  that  two  of 
these  ripples  of  personal  emotion  are  closely 
similar,  a  reflex  action  takes  place;  and 
thus  is  explained  the  phenomenon   which 


174       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

often  takes  place,  the  sudden  sense  of  a 
friend's  personality,  if  that  friend,  in  ab- 
sence, writes  one  a  letter,  or  bends  his 
mind  intently  upon  one.  It  also  explains 
the  way  in  which  some  national  or  cosmic 
emotion  suddenly  gains  simultaneous  force, 
and  vibrates  in  thousands  of  minds  at  the 
same  time. 

The  body,  by  its  joys  and  sufferings  alike, 
offers  a  great  obstruction  to  these  emotional 
waves.  In  the  land  of  spirits,  as  I  have  in- 
dicated, an  intention  of  congenial  wills  gives 
an  instantaneous  perception ;  but  this  seems 
impossible  between  an  embodied  spirit  and 
a  disembodied  spirit.  The  only  communica- 
tion which  seems  possible  is  that  of  a  vague 
emotion;  and  it  seems  quite  impossible  for 
any  sort  of  intellectual  idea  to  be  directly 
communicated  by  a  disembodied  spirit  to 
an  embodied  spirit. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  intellectual  pro- 
cesses of  an  embodied  spirit  are  to  a  certain 
extent  perceptible  by  a  disembodied  spirit; 
but  there  is  a  condition  to  this,  and  that 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       175 

is  that  some  emotional  sympathy  must  have 
existed  between  the  two  on  earth.  If  there 
is  no  such  sympathy,  then  the  body  is  an 
absolute  bar. 

I  could  look  into  the  mind  of  Amroth  and 
see  his  thought  take  shape,  as  I  could  look 
into  a  stream,  and  see  a  fish  dart  from  a 
covert  of  weed.  But  with  those  still  in  the 
body  it  is  different.  And  I  will  therefore 
proceed  to  describe  a  single  experience 
which  will  illustrate  my  point. 

I  was  ordered  to  study  the  case  of  a 
former  friend  of  my  own  who  was  still  liv- 
ing upon  earth.  Nothing  was  told  me  about 
him,  but,  sitting  in  my  cell,  I  put  myself 
into  communication  with  him  upon  earth. 
He  had  been  a  contemporary  of  mine  at 
the  university,  and  we  had  many  interests 
in  common.  He  was  a  lawyer;  we  did  not 
very  often  meet,  but  when  we  did  meet  it 
was  always  with  great  cordiality  and  sym- 
pathy. I  now  found  him  ill  and  suffering 
from  overwork,  in  a  very  melancholy  state. 
When  I  first  visited  him,  he  was  sitting 


176       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

alone,  in  the  garden  of  a  little  house  in  the 
country.  I  could  see  that  he  was  ill  and 
sad;  he  was  making  pretence  to  read,  but 
the  book  was  wholly  disregarded. 

When  I  attempted  to  put  my  mind  into 
communication  with  his,  it  was  very  diffi- 
cult to  see  the  drift  of  his  thoughts.  I  was 
like  a  man  walking  in  a  dense  fog,  who 
can  just  discern  at  intervals  recognisable 
objects  as  they  come  within  his  view;  but 
there  was  no  general  prospect  and  no  dis- 
tance. His  mind  seemed  a  confused  cur- 
rent of  distressing  memories;  but  there 
came  a  time  when  his  thought  dwelt  for 
a  moment  upon  myself;  he  wished  that  I 
could  be  with  him,  that  he  might  speak  of 
some  of  his  perplexities.  In  that  instant, 
the  whole  grew  clearer,  and  little  by  little 
I  was  enabled  to  trace  the  drift  of  his 
thoughts.  I  became  aware  that  though  he 
was  indeed  suffering  from  overwork,  yet 
that  his  enforced  rest  only  removed  the 
mental  distraction  of  his  work,  and  left  his 
mind  free  to  revive  a  whole  troop  of  pain- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       177 

ful  thoughts.  He  had  been  a  man  of  strong 
personal  ambitions,  and  had  for  twenty 
years  been  endeavouring  to  realise  them. 
Now  a  sense  of  the  comparative  worth- 
lessness  of  his  aims  had  come  upon  him. 
He  had  despised  and  slighted  other  emo- 
tions; and  his  mind  had  in  consequence 
drifted  away  like  a  boat  into  a  bitter  and 
barren  sea.  He  was  a  lonely  man,  and  he  was 
feeling  that  he  had  done  ill  in  not  multiply- 
ing human  emotions  and  relations.  He  re- 
flected much  upon  the  way  in  which  he  had 
neglected  and  despised  his  home  affections, 
while  he  had  formed  no  ties  of  his  own.  Now, 
too,  his  career  seemed  to  him  at  an  end, 
and  he  had  nothing  to  look  forward  to  but 
a  maimed  and  invalided  life  of  solitude  and 
failure.  Many  of  his  thoughts  I  could  not 
discern  at  all — the  mist,  so  to  speak,  in- 
volved them — while  many  were  obscure  to 
me.  When  he  thought  about  scenes  and  peo- 
ple whom  I  had  never  known,  the  thought 
loomed  shapeless  and  dark;  but  when  he 
thought,  as  he  often  did,  about  his  school 


178       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

and  university  days,  and  about  his  home 
circle,  all  of  which  scenes  were  familiar  to 
me,  I  could  read  his  mind  with  perfect 
clearness.  At  the  bottom  of  all  lay  a  sense 
of  deep  disappointment  and  resentment. 
He  doubted  the  justice  of  God,  and  blamed 
himself  but  little  for  his  miseries.  It  was 
a  sad  experience  at  first,  because  he  was 
falling  day  by  day  into  more  hopeless  de- 
jection ;  while  he  refused  the  pathetic  over- 
tures of  sympathy  which  the  relations  in 
whose  house  he  was — a  married  sister  with 
her  liusband  and  children — offered  him. 
He  bore  himself  with  courtesy  and  consid- 
eration, but  he  was  so  much  worn  with 
fatigue  and  despondency  that  he  could  not 
take  any  initiative.  But  I  became  aware 
very  gradually  that  he  was  learning  the  true 
worth  and  proportion  of  things — and  the 
months  which  passed  so  heavily  for  him 
brought  him  perceptions  of  the  value  of 
which  he  was  hardly  aware.  Let  me  say 
that  it  was  now  that  the  incredible  swift- 
ness of  time  in  the  spiritual  region  made 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       179 

itself  felt  for  me.  A  month  of  his  suffer- 
ings passed  to  me,  contemplating  them,  like 
an  hour. 

I  found  to  my  surprise  that  his  thoughts 
of  myself  were  becoming  more  frequent; 
and  one  day  when  he  was  turning  over 
some  old  letters  and  reading  a  number  of 
mine,  it  seemed  to  me  that  his  spirit  almost 
recognised  my  presence  in  the  words  which 
came  to  his  lips,  "  It  seems  like  yesterday !  " 
I  then  became  blessedly  aware  that  I  was 
actually  helping  him,  and  that  the  very  in- 
tentness  of  my  own  thought  was  quicken- 
ing his  own. 

I  discussed  the  whole  case  very  closely 
and  carefully  with  one  of  our  instructors, 
who  set  me  right  on  several  points  and  made 
tlie  whole  state  of  things  clear  to  me. 

I  said  to  him,  "  One  thing  bewilders  me; 
it  would  almost  seem  that  a  man's  work 
upon  earth  constituted  an  interruption  and 
a  distraction  from  spiritual  influences.  It 
cannot  surely  be  that  people  in  the  body 
should  avoid  employment,  and  give  them- 


i8o       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

selves  to  secluded  meditation?  If  the  soul 
grows  fast  in  sadness  and  despondency,  it 
would  seem  that  one  should  almost  have 
courted  sorrow  on  earth;  and  yet  I  cannot 
believe  that  to  be  the  case." 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  it  is  not  the  case ;  the 
body  has  here  to  be  considered.  No  amount 
of  active  exertion  clouds  the  eye  of  the  soul, 
if  only  the  motive  of  it  is  pure  and  lofty, 
and  if  the  soul  is  only  set  patiently  and 
faithfully  upon  the  true  end  of  life.  The 
body  indeed  requires  due  labour  and  exer- 
cise, and  the  soul  can  gain  health  and  clear- 
ness thereby.  But  what  does  cloud  the 
spirit  is  if  it  gives  itself  wholly  up  to  nar- 
row personal  aims  and  ambitions,  and  uses 
friendship  and  love  as  mere  recreations  and 
amusements.  Sickness  and  sorrow  are  not, 
as  we  used  to  think,  fortuitous  things;  they 
are  given  to  those  who  need  them,  as  high 
and  rich  opportunities;  and  they  come  as 
truly  blessed  gifts,  when  they  break  a  man's 
thought  off  from  material  things,  and  make 
him  fall  back  upon  the  loving  affections  and 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       i8i 

relations  of  life.  When  one  re-enters  the 
world,  a  woman's  life  is  sometimes  granted 
to  a  spirit,  because  a  woman  by  circum- 
stance and  temperament  is  less  tempted  to 
decline  upon  meaner  ambitions  and  inter- 
ests than  a  man ;  but  work  and  activity  are 
no  hindrances  to  spiritual  growth,  so  long 
as  the  soul  waits  upon  God,  and  desires  to 
learn  the  lessons  of  life,  rather  than  to  en- 
force its  own  conclusions  upon  others." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  see  that.  What,  then, 
is  the  great  hindrance  in  the  life  of  men?  " 

"  Authority,"  he  said,  "  whether  given  or 
taken.  That  is  by  far  the  greatest  difficulty 
that  a  soul  has  to  contend  with.  The  know- 
ledge of  the  true  conditions  of  life  is  so 
minute  and  yet  so  imperfect,  when  one  is 
in  the  body,  that  the  man  or  woman  who 
thinks  it  a  duty  to  disapprove,  to  correct, 
to  censure,  is  in  the  gravest  danger.  In 
the  first  place  it  is  so  impossible  to  dis- 
entangle the  true  conditions  of  any  human 
life;  to  know  how  far  those  failures  which 
are   lightly   called   sins   are   inherited  in- 


1 82        The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

stincts  of  the  body,  or  the  manifestation  of 
immaturity  of  spirit.  Complacency,  hard 
righteousness,  spiritual  security,  severe 
judgments,  are  the  real  foes  of  spiritual 
growth;  and  if  a  man  is  in  a  position  to 
enforce  his  influence  and  his  will  upon 
others,  he  can  fall  very  low  indeed,  and 
suspend  his  own  growth  for  a  very  long 
and  sad  period.  It  is  not  the  criticism  or 
the  analysis  of  others  which  hurts  the  soul, 
so  long  as  it  remains  modest  and  sincere  and 
conscious  of  its  own  weaknesses.  It  is  when 
we  indulge  in  secure  or  compassionate  com- 
parisons of  our  own  superior  worth  that  we 
go  backwards." 

This  was  but  one  of  the  many  cases  which 
I  had  to  investigate.  I  do  not  say  that  this 
is  the  work  of  all  spirits  in  the  other  world 
— it  is  not  so;  there  are  many  kinds  of 
work  and  occupation.  This  was  the  one 
now  allotted  to  me ;  but  I  did  become  aware 
of  the  intense  and  loving  interest  w^hich  is 
bent  upon  the  souls  of  the  living  by  those 
who  are  departed.     There  is  not  a  soul  alive 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       183 

who  is  not  being  thus  watched  and  tended, 
and  helped,  as  far  as  help  is  possible;  for 
no  one  is  ever  forced  or  compelled  or  fright- 
ened into  truth,  only  drawn  and  wooed  by 
love  and  care. 

I  must  say  a  word,  too,  of  the  great  and 
noble  friendships  which  I  formed  at  this 
period  of  my  existence.  We  were  not  free 
to  make  many  of  these  at  a  time.  Love 
seems  to  be  the  one  thing  that  demands  an 
entire  concentration,  and  though  in  the 
world  of  spirits  I  became  aware  that  one 
could  be  conscious  of  many  of  the  thoughts 
of  those  about  me  simultaneously,  yet  the 
emotion  of  love,  in  the  earlier  stages,  is 
single  and  exclusive. 

I  will  speak  of  two  only.  There  were  a 
young  man  and  a  young  woman  who  were 
much  associated  with  me  at  that  time,  whom 
I  will  call  Philip  and  Anna.  Philip  was 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the  spirits 
I  ever  came  near.  His  last  life  upon  earth 
had  been  a  long  one,  and  he  had  been  a 
teacher.     I  used  to  tell  him  that  I  wished 


1 84       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

I  had  been  under  him  as  a  pupil,  to  which 
he  replied,  laughing,  that  I  should  have 
found  liim  very  uninteresting.  He  said  to 
me  once  that  the  way  in  which  he  had  al- 
ways distinguished  the  two  kinds  of  teachers 
on  earth  had  been  by  whether  they  were 
always  anxious  to  teach  new  books  and  new 
subjects,  or  went  on  contentedly  with  the 
old.  "  The  pleasure,"  he  said,  "  was  in  the 
teaching,  in  making  the  thought  clear,  in 
tempting  the  boys  to  find  out  what  they 
knew  all  the  time;  and  the  oftener  I  taught 
a  subject  the  better  I  liked  it;  it  was  like 
a  big  cog-wheel,  with  a  number  of  little 
cog-wheels  turning  with  it.  But  the  men 
who  were  always  wanting  to  change  their 
subjects  were  the  men  who  thought  of  their 
own  intellectual  interest  first,  and  very  little 
of  the  small  interests  revolving  upon  it." 
The  charm  of  Philip  was  the  charm  of  ex- 
treme ingenuousness  combined  with  daring 
insight.  He  never  seemed  to  be  shocked  or 
distressed  by  anything.  He  said  one  day, 
"  It  was  not  the  sensual  or  the  timid  or  the 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       185 

ill-tempered  boys  who  used  to  make  me 
anxious.  Tliose  were  definite  faults  and 
brought  definite  punishment;  it  was  the 
hard-hearted,  virtuous,  ambitious,  sensible 
boys,  who  were  good-humoured  and  respect- 
able and  selfish,  who  bothered  me;  one 
wanted  to  shake  them  as  a  terrier  shakes 
a  rat — but  there  w^as  nothing  to  get  hold 
of.  They  were  a  credit  to  themselves  and 
to  their  parents  and  to  the  school;  and  yet 
they  went  downhill  with  every  success." 

Anna  was  a  woman  of  singularly  un- 
selfish and  courageous  temperament.  She 
had  been,  in  the  course  of  her  last  life  upon 
earth,  a  hospital  nurse;  and  she  used  to 
speak  gratefully  of  the  long  periods  when 
she  was  nursing  some  anxious  case,  when 
she  had  interchanged  day  and  night,  sleep- 
ing when  the  world  was  awake,  and  sitting 
with  a  book  or  needlework  by  the  sick-bed, 
through  the  long  darkness.  "  People  used 
to  say  to  me  that  it  must  be  so  depressing; 
but  those  were  my  happiest  hours,  as  the 
dark  brightened  into  dawn,  when  many  of 


i86       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

the  strange  mysteries  of  life  and  pain  and 
death  gave  up  their  secrets  to  me.  But  of 
course,"  she  added  with  a  smile,  "  it  was  all 
very  dim  to  me.  I  felt  the  truth  rather 
than  saw  it;  and  it  is  a  great  joy  to  me 
to  perceive  now  what  was  happening,  and 
how  the  sad,  bewildered  hours  of  pain  and 
misery  leave  their  blessed  marks  upon  the 
soul,  like  the  tools  of  the  graver  on  the 
gem.  If  only  we  could  learn  to  plan  a  little 
less  and  to  believe  a  little  more,  how  much 
simpler  it  would  all  be !  " 

These  two  became  very  dear  to  me,  and 
I  learnt  much  heavenly  wisdom  from  them 
in  long,  quiet  conferences,  where  w^e  spoke 
frankly  of  all  we  had  felt  and  known. 


XIX 

It  was  at  this  time,  I  think,  that  a  great 
change  came  over  my  thoughts,  or  rather 
that  I  realised  that  a  great  change  had  grad- 
ually taken  place.  Till  now,  I  had  been 
dominated  and  haunted  by  memories  of  my 
latest  life  upon  earth ;  but  at  intervals  there 
had  visited  me  a  sense  of  older  and  purer 
recollections.  I  cannot  describe  exactly 
how  it  came  about — and,  indeed,  the  memory 
of  what  my  heavenly  progress  had  hitherto 
been,  as  opposed  to  my  earthly  experience, 
was  never  very  clear  to  me;  but  I  became 
aware  that  my  life  in  heaven — I  will  call  it 
heaven  for  want  of  a  better  name — was  my 
real  continuous  life,  my  home-life,  so  to 
speak,  while  my  earthly  lives  had  been,  to 
pursue  the  metaphor,  like  terms  which  a 
boy  spends  at  school,  in  which  he  is  aware 
187 


i88       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

that  he  not  only  learns  definite  and  tangible 
things,  but  that  his  character  is  hardened 
and  consolidated  by  coming  into  contact 
with  the  rougher  facts  of  life — duty,  respon- 
sibility, friendships,  angers,  treacheries, 
temptations,  routine.  The  boy  returns  with 
gladness  to  the  serener  and  sweeter  atmos- 
phere of  home;  and  just  in  the  same  way 
I  felt  I  had  returned  to  the  larger  and  purer 
life  of  heaven.  But,  as  I  say,  the  recollec- 
tion of  my  earlier  life  in  heaven,  my  occu- 
pations and  experience,  was  never  clear  to 
me,  but  rather  as  a  luminous  and  haunting 
mist.  I  questioned  Amroth  about  this  once, 
and  he  said  that  this  was  the  universal 
experience,  and  that  the  earthly  lives  one 
lived  were  like  deep  trenches  cut  across  a 
path,  and  seemed  to  interrupt  the  heavenly 
sequence;  but  that  as  the  spirit  grew  more 
pure  and  wise,  the  consciousness  of  the 
heavenly  life  became  more  distinct  and  se- 
cure. But  he  added,  what  I  did  not  quite 
understand,  that  there  was  little  need  of 
memory  in  the  life  of  heaven,  and  that  it  was 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       189 

to  a  great  extent  the  inheritance  of  the  body. 
Memory,  he  said,  was  to  a  great  extent  an 
interruption  to  life;  the  thought  of  past  fail- 
ures and  mistakes,  and  especially  of  unkind- 
nesses  and  misunderstandings,  tended  to 
obscure  and  complicate  one's  relations  with 
other  souls;  but  that  in  heaven,  w^here  ac- 
tivity and  energy  were  untiring  and  unceas- 
ing, one  lived  far  more  in  the  emotion  and 
work  of  the  moment,  and  less  in  retrospect 
and  prospect.  What  mattered  was  actual 
experience  and  the  effect  of  experience; 
memory  itself  was  but  an  artistic  method  of 
dealing  with  the  past,  and  corresponded  to 
fanciful  and  delightful  anticipations  of  the 
future.  "  The  truth  is,"  he  said,  "  that  the 
indulgence  of  memory  is  to  a  great  extent  a 
mere  sentimental  weakness;  to  live  much  in 
recollection  is  a  sign  of  exhausted  and  de- 
pleted vitality.  The  further  you  are  re- 
moved from  your  last  earthly  life,  the  less 
tempted  you  will  be  to  recall  it.  The  high- 
est spirits  of  all  here,''  he  said,  "have  no 
temptation  ever  to  revert  to  retrospect,  be- 


I90       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

cause  the  pure  energies  of  the  moment  are 
all-sustaining  and  all-sufficing." 

The  only  trace  I  ever  noticed  of  any 
memory  of  my  past  life  in  heaven  was  that 
things  sometimes  seemed  surprisingly  fa- 
miliar to  me,  and  that  I  had  the  sense  of 
a  serene  permanence,  which  possessed  and 
encompassed  me.  Indeed  I  came  to  believe 
that  the  strange  feeling  of  permanence 
which  haunts  one  upon  earth,  when  one  is 
happy  and  content,  even  though  one  knows 
that  everything  is  changing  and  shifting 
around  one,  and  that  all  is  precarious  and 
uncertain,  is  in  itself  a  memory  of  the  serene 
and  untroubled  continuance  of  heaven,  and 
a  desire  to  taste  it  and  realise  it. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  from  the  time  of  my 
finding  my  settled  task  and  ordered  place  in 
the  heavenly  community  the  memories  of 
my  old  life  upon  earth  began  to  fade  from 
my  thoughts.  I  could,  indeed,  always  re- 
call them  by  an  effort,  but  there  seemed  less 
and  less  inclination  to  do  so  the  more  I 
became  absorbed  in  my  heavenly  activities. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       191 

One  thing  I  noticed  in  these  days;  it 
surprised  me  very  greatly,  till  I  reflected 
that  my  surprise  was  but  the  consequence 
of  the  strange  and  mournful  blindness  with 
regard  to  spiritual  things  in  which  we  live 
under  the  dark  skies  of  earth.  We  have 
there  a  false  idea  that  somehow  or  other 
death  takes  all  the  individuality  out  of  a 
man,  obliterating  all  the  whims,  prejudices, 
the  thorny  and  unreasonable  dislikes  and 
fancies,  oddities,  tempers,  roughnesses,  and 
subtlenesses  from  a  temperament.  Of  course 
there  are  a  good  many  of  these  things  which 
disappear  together  with  the  body,  such  as 
the  glooms,  suspicions,  and  cloudy  irritabil- 
ities, which  are  caused  by  fatigue  and 
malaise,  and  by  ill-health  generally.  But 
*  a  man's  whims  and  fancies  and  dislikes  do 
not  by  any  means  disappear  on  earth  when 
he  is  in  good  health;  on  the  contrary,  they 
are  often  apt  to  be  accentuated  and  em- 
phasised when  he  is  free  from  pain  and 
care  and  anxiety,  and  riding  blithely  over 
the  waves  of  life.     Indeed  there  are  men 


192       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

whom  I  have  known  who  are  never  kind 
or  sympathetic  till  they  are  in  some  wear- 
ing trouble  of  their  own;  when  they  are 
prosperous  and  cheerful,  they  are  frankly 
intolerable,  because  their  mirth  turns  to 
derision  and  insolence. 

But  one  of  the  reasons  why  the  heavenly 
life  is  apt  to  appear  in  prospect  so  weari- 
some a  thing  is,  because  we  are  brought  up 
to  feel  that  the  whole  character  is  flattened 
out  and  charged  with  a  serene  kind  of 
priggishness,  which  takes  all  the  salt  out 
of  life.  The  word  "  saintly,"  so  terribly 
misapplied  on  earth,  grows  to  mean,  to 
many  of  us,  an  irritating  sort  of  kindness, 
which  treats  the  interests  and  animated 
elements  of  life  with  a  painful  condescen- 
sion, and  a  sympathy  of  which  the  basis  is 
duty  rather  than  love.  The  true  sanctifica- 
tion,  which  I  came  to  perceive  something 
of  later,  is  the  result  of  a  process  of  endless 
patience  and  infinite  delay,  and  the  attain- 
ment of  it  implies  a  humility,  seven  times 
refined    in    the    fires    of    self-contempt,    in 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       193 

which  there  remains  no  smallest  touch  of 
superiority  or  aloofness.  How  utterly  de- 
pressing is  the  feigned  interest  of  the  im- 
perfect human  saint  in  matters  of  mundane 
concern!  How  it  takes  at  once  both  the 
joy  out  of  holiness  and  the  spirit  out  of 
human  effort!  It  is  as  dreary  as  the  pro- 
fessional sympathy  of  the  secluded  student 
for  the  news  of  athletic  contests,  as  the 
tolerance  of  the  shrewd  man  of  science  for 
the  feminine  logic  of  religious  sentiment ! 

But  I  found  to  my  great  content  that 
whatever  change  had  passed  over  the  spirits 
of  my  companions,  they  had  at  least  lost 
no  fibre  of  their  individuality.  The  change 
that  had  passed  over  them  was  like  the 
change  that  passes  over  a  young  man,  who 
has  lived  at  the  University  among  dilet- 
tante literary  designs  and  mild  sociological 
theorising,  when  he  finds  himself  plunged 
into  the  urgent  practical  activities  of  the 
world.  Our  happiness  was  the  happiness 
which  comes  of  intense  toil,  with  no  fatigue 
to  dog  it,  and  from  a  consciousness  of  the 


194       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

vital  issues  which  we  were  pursuing. 
But  my  companions  had  still  intellectual 
faults  and  preferences,  self-confidence,  crit- 
ical intolerance,  boisterousness,  wilfulness. 
Stranger  still,  I  found  coldness,  anger, 
jealousy,  still  at  work.  Of  course  in  the 
latter  case  reconciliation  was  easier,  both 
in  the  light  of  common  enthusiasm  and, 
still  more,  because  mental  communication 
was  so  much  swifter  and  easier  than  it  had 
been  on  earth.  There  was  no  need  of  those 
protracted  talks,  those  tiresome  explana- 
tions which  clever  people,  who  really  love 
and  esteem  each  other,  fall  into  on  eartli 
— the  statements  which  affirm  nothing,  the 
explanations  which  elucidate  nothing,  be- 
cause of  the  intricacies  of  human  speech  and 
the  fact  that  people  use  the  same  words 
with  such  different  implications  and  mean- 
ings. All  those  became  unnecessary,  be- 
cause one  could  pierce  instantaneously  into 
the  very  essence  of  the  soul,  and  manifest, 
without  the  need  of  expression,  the  regard 
and  affection  which  lay  beneath  the  cross- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       195 

currents  of  emotion.  But  love  and  affec- 
tion waxed  and  waned  in  heaven  as  on 
earth;  it  was  weakened  and  it  was  trans- 
ferred. Few  souls  are  so  serene  on  earth 
as  to  see  with  perfect  equanimity  a  friend, 
whom  one  loves  and  trusts,  becoming  ab- 
sorbed in  some  new  and  exciting  emotion, 
which  may  not  perhaps  obliterate  the  ori- 
ginal regard,  but  which  must  withdraw 
from  it  for  a  time  the  energy  which  fed 
the  flame  of  the  intermitted  relation. 

It  was  very  strange  to  me  to  realise  the 
fact  that  friendships  and  intimacies  were 
formed  as  on  earth,  and  that  they  lost  their 
freshness,  either  from  some  lack  of  real  con- 
geniality or  from  some  divergence  of  de- 
velopment. Sometimes,  I  may  add,  our 
teachers  w^ere  consulted  by  the  aggrieved, 
sometimes  they  even  intervened  unasked. 

I  will  freely  confess  that  this  all  im- 
mensely heightened  the  interests  to  me  of 
our  common  life.  One  could  see  two  spirits 
drawn  together  by  some  secret  tie  of  emo- 
tion, and  one  could  see  some  further  influ- 


196       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

ence  strike  across  and  suspend  it.  One  case 
of  this  I  will  mention,  which  is  typical  of 
many.  There  came  among  us  an  extremely 
lively  and  rather  whimsical  spirit,  more  like 
a  boy  than  a  man.  I  wondered  at  first  why 
he  was  chosen  for  this  work,  because  he 
seemed  both  fitful  and  even  capricious;  but 
I  gradually  realised  in  him  an  extraor- 
dinary fineness  of  perception,  and  a  swift- 
ness of  intuition  almost  unrivalled.  He 
had  a  power  of  weighing  almost  by  instinct 
the  constituent  elements  of  character,  which 
seemed  to  me  something  like  the  powder  of 
tonality  in  a  musician,  the  gift  of  recognis- 
ing, by  pure  faculty,  what  any  notes  may 
be,  however  confusedly  jangled  on  an  in- 
strument. It  was  wonderful  to  me  how 
often  his  instantaneous  judgments  proved 
more  sagacious  than  our  carefully  formed 
conclusions. 

This  boy  became  extraordinarily  attrac- 
tive to  an  older  woman  who  was  one  of  our 
number,  who  was  solitary  and  abstracted, 
and  of  an  intense  seriousness  of  devotion 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       197 

to  her  work.  It  was  evident  both  that  she 
felt  his  charm  intensely  and  that  her  dis^ 
position  was  wholly  alien  to  the  disposition 
of  tlie  boy  himself.  In  fact,  she  simply 
bored  him.  He  took  all  that  he  did  lightly, 
and  achieved  by  an  intense  momentary  con- 
centration what  she  could  only  achieve  by 
slow  reflection.  This  devotion  had  in  it 
something  that  was  strangely  pathetic,  be- 
cause it  took  the  form  in  her  of  making 
her  wish  to  conciliate  the  boy's  admiration, 
by  treating  thoughts  and  ideas  with  a  light- 
ness and  a  humour  to  which  she  could  by 
no  means  attain,  and  which  made  things 
worse  rather  than  better,  because  she  could 
read  so  easily,  in  the  thoughts  of  others, 
the  impression  that  she  was  attempting  a 
handling  of  topics  which  she  could  not  in 
the  least  accomplish.  But  advice  was  use- 
less. There  it  was,  the  old,  fierce,  constrain- 
ing attraction  of  love,  as  it  had  been  of 
old,  making  havoc  of  comfortable  arrange- 
ments, attempting  the  impossible;  and  yet 
one  knew  that  she  would  gain  by  the  pro- 


198       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

cess,  that  she  was  opening  a  door  in  her 
heart  that  had  hitherto  been  closed,  and 
learning  a  largeness  of  view  and  sympathy 
in  the  process.  Her  fault  had  ever  been, 
no  doubt,  to  estimate  slow  and  accurate 
methods  too  highly,  and  to  believe  that  all 
was  insecure  and  untrustworthy  that  was 
not  painfully  accumulated.  Now  she  saw 
that  genius  could  accomplish  without  effort 
or  trouble  what  no  amount  of  homely  energy 
could  effect,  and  a  new  horizon  w^as  unveiled 
to  her.  But  on  the  boy  it  did  not  seem 
to  have  the  right  result.  He  might  have 
learned  to  extend  his  sympathy  to  a  nature 
so  dumb  and  plodding;  and  this  coldness 
of  his  called  down  a  rebuke  of  what  seemed 
almost  undue  sternness  from  one  of  our 
teachers.  It  was  not  given  in  my  presence, 
but  the  boy,  bewildered  by  the  severity 
which  he  did  not  anticipate,  coupled  indeed 
with  a  hint  that  he  must  be  prepared,  if 
he  could  not  exhibit  a  more  elastic  sym- 
pathy, to  have  his  course  suspended  in 
favour  of  some  more  simple  discipline,  told 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        199 

me  the  whole  matter.  "  What  am  I  to  do?  ^' 
he  said.  "  I  cannot  care  for  Barbara ;  her 
whole  nature  upsets  me  and  revolts  me.  I 
know  she  is  very  good  and  all  that,  but  I 
simply  am  not  myself  when  she  is  by;  it 
is  like  taking  a  run  with  a  tortoise ! '' 

"  Well/'  I  said,  ''  no  one  expects  you  to 
give  up  all  your  time  to  taking  tortoises 
for  runs;  but  I  suppose  that  tortoises  have 
their  rights,  and  must  not  be  jerked  along 
on  their  backs,  like  a  sledge." 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  you  are  all  against  me, 
I  know;  and  I  am  not  sure  that  this 
place  is  not  rather  too  solemn  for  me. 
What  is  the  good  of  being  wiser  than  the 
aged,  if  one  has  more  commandments  to 
keep?  " 

Things,  however,  settled  down  in  time. 
Barbara,  I  think,  must  have  been  taken  to 
task  as  well,  because  she  gave  up  her  at- 
tempts at  wit;  and  the  end  of  it  was  that 
a  quiet  friendship  sprang  up  between  the 
incongruous  pair,  like  that  between  a  way- 
ward young  brother  and  a  plain,  kindly. 


200       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

and    elderly    sister,    of    a   very    fine    and 
chivalrous  kind. 

It  must  not  be  thought  that  we  spent  our 
time  wholly  in  these  emotional  relations. 
It  was  a  place  of  hard  and  urgent  work; 
but  I  came  to  realise  that,  just  as  on  earth, 
institutions  like  schools  and  colleges,  where 
a  great  variety  of  natures  are  gathered  in 
close  and  daily  contact,  are  shot  through 
and  through  with  strange  currents  of  emo- 
tion, which  some  people  pay  no  attention 
to,  and  others  dismiss  as  mere  sentimen- 
tality, so  it  was  also  bound  to  be  beyond, 
with  this  difference,  that  whereas  on  earth 
we  are  shy  and  awkward  with  our  friend- 
ships, and  all  sorts  of  physical  complica- 
tions intervene,  in  the  other  world  they 
assume  their  frank  importance.  I  saw  that 
much  of  what  is  called  the  serious  business 
of  life  is  simply  and  solely  necessitated  by 
bodily  needs,  and  is  really  entirely  tempo- 
rary and  trivial,  while  the  real  life  of  the 
soul,  which  underlies  it  all,  stifled  and  sub- 
dued,  pent-up   uneasily   and  cramped  un- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       201 

kindly  like  a  bright  spring  of  water  under 
the  superincumbent  earth,  finds  its  way  at 
last  to  the  light.  On  earth  we  awkwardly 
divide  this  impulse;  we  speak  of  the  rela- 
tion of  the  soul  to  others  and  of  the  re- 
lation of  the  soul  to  God  as  two  separate 
things.  We  pass  over  the  words  of  Christ 
in  the  Gospel,  which  directly  contradict  this, 
and  which  make  the  one  absolutely  depen- 
dent on,  and  conditional  on,  the  other.  We 
speak  of  human  affection  as  a  thing  which 
may  come  in  between  the  soul  and  God, 
while  it  is  in  reality  the  swiftest  access 
thither.  We  speak  as  though  ambition  were 
itself  made  more  noble,  if  it  sternly  ab- 
jures all  multiplication  of  human  tender- 
ness. We  speak  of  a  life  which  sacrifices 
material  success  to  emotion  as  a  failure  and 
an  irresponsible  affair.  The  truth  is  the 
precise  opposite.  All  the  ambitions  which 
have  their  end  in  personal  prestige  are 
wholly  barren;  the  ambitions  which  aim  at 
social  amelioration  have  a  certain  nobility 
about  them,  though  they  substitute  a  tor- 


202       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

tuous  by-path  for  a  direct  highway.  And 
the  plain  truth  is  that  all  social  ameliora- 
tion would  grow  up  as  naturally  and  as 
fragrantly  as  a  flower,  if  we  could  but  refine 
and  strengthen  and  awaken  our  slumbering 
emotions,  and  let  them  grow  out  freely  to 
gladden  the  little  circle  of  earth  in  which 
we  live  and  move. 


XX 


It  was  at  this  time  that  I  had  a  memorable 
interview  with  the  Master  of  the  College. 
He  appeared  very  little  among  us,  though 
he  occasionally  gave  us  a  short  instruction, 
in  which  he  summed  up  the  teaching  on  a 
certain  point.  He  was  a  man  of  extraor- 
dinary impressiveness,  mainly,  I  think,  be- 
cause he  gave  the  sense  of  being  occupied 
in  much  larger  and  wider  interests.  I  often 
pondered  over  the  question  why  the  short, 
clear,  rather  dry  discourses  which  fell  from 
his  lips  appeared  to  be  so  far  more  weighty 
and  momentous  than  anything  else  that 
was  ever  said  to  us.  He  used  no  arts  of 
exhortation,  showed  no  emotion,  seemed 
hardly  conscious  of  our  presence;  and  if 
one  caught  his  eye  as  he  spoke,  one  became 
aware  of  a  curious  tremor  of  awe.  He  never 
made  any  appeal  to  our  hearts  or  feelings : 
203 


204       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

but  it  always  seemed  as  if  he  had  con- 
descended for  a  moment  to  put  aside  far 
bigger  and  loftier  designs  in  order  to  drop 
a  fruit  of  ripened  wisdom  in  our  way.  He 
came  among  us,  indeed,  like  a  statesman 
rather  than  like  a  teacher.  The  brief  inter- 
views we  had  with  him  were  regarded  with 
a  sort  of  terror,  but  produced,  in  me  at 
least,  an  almost  fanatical  respect  and  ad- 
miration. And  yet  I  had  no  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  he  was  not,  like  all  of  us,  subject 
to  the  law  of  life  and  pilgrimage,  though 
one  could  not  conceive  of  him  as  having 
to  enter  the  arena  of  life  again  as  a  help- 
less child ! 

On  this  occasion  I  was  summoned  sud- 
denly to  his  presence.  I  found  him,  as 
usual,  bent  over  his  work,  which  he  did 
not  intermit,  but  merely  motioned  me  to 
be  seated.  Presently  he  put  away  his 
papers  from  him,  and  turned  round  upon 
me.  One  of  the  disconcerting  things  about 
him  was  the  fact  that  his  thought  had  a 
peculiarly  compelling  tendency,   and  that 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       205 

while  he  read  one's  mind  in  a  flash,  his 
own  thoughts  remained  very  nearly  im- 
penetrable. On  this  occasion  he  commended 
me  for  my  work  and  my  relations  with  my 
fellow-students,  adding  that  I  had  made 
rapid  progress.  He  then  said,  "  I  have  two 
questions  to  ask  you.  Have  you  any  special 
relations,  either  with  any  one  whom  you 
have  left  behind  you  on  earth,  or  with  any 
one  with  whom  you  have  made  acquaintance 
since  you  quitted  it,  which  you  desire  to 
pursue?  " 

I  told  him,  which  was  the  truth,  that 
since  my  stay  in  the  College  I  had  become 
so  much  absorbed  in  the  studies  of  the  place 
that  I  seemed  to  have  became  strangely 
oblivious  of  my  external  friends,  but  that  it 
was  more  a  suspension  than  a  destruction 
of  would-be  relations. 

"  Yes,*'  he  said,  "  I  perceive  that  that  is 
your  temperament.  It  has  its  effectiveness, 
no  doubt,  but  it  also  has  its  dangers;  and, 
whatever  happens,  one  ought  never  to  be  able 
to  accuse  oneself  justly  of  any  disloyalty." 


2o6       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

He  seemed  to  wait  for  me  to  speak,  where- 
upon I  mentioned  a  very  dear  friend  of  my 
days  of  earth;  but  I  added  that  most  of 
those  whom  I  had  loved  best  had  prede- 
ceased me,  and  that  I  had  looked  forward 
to  a  renewal  of  our  intercourse.  I  also 
mentioned  the  names  of  Charmides  and 
Cynthia,  the  latter  of  whom  was  in  memory 
strangely  near  to  my  heart. 

He  seemed  satisfied  with  this.  Then  he 
said,  "  It  is  true  that  we  have  to  multiply 
relationships  with  others,  both  in  the  world 
and  out  of  it;  but  we  must  also  practise 
economy.  We  must  not  abandon  ourselves 
to  passing  fancies,  or  be  subservient  to 
charm,  while  if  we  have  made  an  emo- 
tional mistake,  and  have  been  disappointed 
with  one  whom  we  have  taken  the  trouble 
to  win,  we  must  guard  such  conquests  with 
a  close  and  peculiar  tenderness.  But 
enough  of  that,  for  I  have  to  ask  you  if 
there  is  any  special  work  for  w^hich  you 
feel  yourself  disposed.  There  is  a  great 
choice    of    employment    here.      You    may 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       207 

choose,  if  you  will,  just  to  live  the  spiritual 
life  and  discharge  whatever  duties  of  citi- 
zenship you  may  be  called  upon  to  perform. 
That  is  what  most  spirits  do.  I  need  not 
perhaps  tell  you  " — here  he  smiled — "  that 
freedom  from  the  body  does  not  confer  upon 
any  one,  as  our  poor  brothers  and  sisters 
upon  earth  seem  to  think,  a  heavenly  voca- 
tion. Neither  of  course  is  the  earthly 
fallacy  about  a  mere  absorption  in  worship 
a  true  one — only  to  a  very  few  is  that  con- 
ceded. Still  less  is  this  a  life  of  leisure. 
To  be  leisurely  here  is  permitted  only  to 
the  wearied,  and  to  those  childish  creatures 
with  whom  you  have  spent  some  time  in 
their  barren  security.  I  do  not  think  you  are 
suited  for  the  work  of  recording  the  great 
scheme  of  life,  nor  do  I  think  you  are  made 
for  a  teacher.  You  are  not  sufficiently 
impartial!  For  mere  labour  you  are  not 
suited ;  and  yet  I  hardly  think  you  would  be 
fit  to  adopt  the  most  honourable  task  which 
your  friend  Amroth  so  finely  fulfils — a 
guide  and  messenger.  What  do  you  think?  '* 


2o8        The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

I  said  at  once  that  I  did  not  wish  to 
have  to  make  a  decision,  but  that  I  pre- 
ferred to  leave  it  to  him.  I  added  that 
though  I  was  conscious  of  my  deficiencies, 
I  did  not  feel  conscious  of  any  particular 
capacities,  except  that  I  found  character  a 
very  fascinating  study,  especially  in  connec- 
tion with  the  circumstances  of  life  upon 
earth. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  I  think  that  you 
may  perhaps  be  best  suited  to  the  work  of 
deciding  what  sort  of  life  will  best  befit  the 
souls  who  are  prepared  to  take  up  their 
life  upon  earth  again.  That  is  a  task  of 
deep  and  infinite  concern ;  it  may  surprise 
you,"  he  added,  "  to  learn  that  this  is  left 
to  the  decision  of  other  souls.  But  it  is,  of 
course,  the  goal  at  which  all  earthly  social 
systems  are  aiming,  the  right  apportion- 
ment of  circumstances  to  temperament,  and 
you  must  not  be  surprised  to  find  that  here 
we  have  gone  much  further  in  that  direc- 
tion, though  even  here  the  system  is  not 
perfected;  and  you  cannot  begin  to  appre- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn        209 

hend  that  fact  too  soon.  It  is  unfortunate 
that  on  earth  it  is  commonly  believed,  owing 
to  the  deadening  influence  of  material 
causes,  that  beyond  the  grave  everything  is 
done  with  a  Divine  unanimity.  But  of 
course,  if  that  were  so,  further  growth  and 
development  would  be  impossible,  and  in 
view  of  infinite  perfectibility  there  is  yet 
very  much  that  is  faulty  and  incomplete. 
But  I  am  not  sure  what  lies  before  you; 
there  is  something  in  your  temperament 
which  a  little  baffles  me,  and  our  plans  may 
have  to  be  changed.  Your  very  absorption 
in  your  work,  your  quick  power  of  forget- 
ting and  throwing  off  impressions  has  its 
dangers.  But  I  will  bear  in  mind  what 
you  have  said,  and  you  may  for  the  present 
resume  your  studies,  and  I  will  once  more 
commend  you ;  you  have  done  well  hitherto, 
and  I  will  say  frankly  that  I  regard  you  as 
capable  of  useful  and  honourable  work." 
He  bowed  in  token  of  dismissal,  and  I  went 
back  to  my  work  with  unbounded  gratitude 
and  enthusiasm. 


XXI 

Some  time  after  this  I  was  surprised  one 
morning  at  the  sudden  entrance  of  Amroth 
into  my  cell.  He  came  in  with  a  very  bright 
and  holiday  aspect,  and,  assuming  a  pa- 
ternal air,  said  that  he  had  heard  a  very 
creditable  account  of  my  work  and  conduct, 
and  that  he  had  obtained  leave  for  me  to 
have  an  exeat.  I  suppose  that  I  showed 
signs  of  impatience  at  the  interruption,  for 
he  broke  into  a  laugh,  and  said,  "  Well,  I 
am  going  to  insist.  I  believe  you  are  work- 
ing too  hard,  and  we  must  not  overstrain 
our  faculties.  It  was  bad  enough  in  the 
old  days,  but  then  it  was  generally  the  poor 
body  which  suffered  first.  But  indeed  it  is 
quite  possible  to  overwork  here,  and  you 
have  the  dim  air  of  the  pale  student. 
Come,"  he  said,  "  whatever  happens,  do  not 
become  priggish.    Not  to  want  a  holiday  is 

210 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       211 

a  sign  of  spiritual  pride.  Besides,  I  have 
some  curious  things  to  show  you." 

I  got  up  and  said  that  I  was  ready,  and 
Amroth  led  the  way  like  a  boy  out  for  a 
holiday.  He  was  brimming  over  with  talk, 
and  told  me  some  stories  about  my  friends 
in  the  land  of  delight,  interspersing  them 
with  imitation  of  their  manner  and  gesture, 
which  made  me  giggle — Amroth  was  an  ad- 
mirable mimic.  "  I  had  hopes  of  Char- 
mides,"  he  said;  "your  stay  there  aroused 
his  curiosity.  But  he  has  gone  back  to  his 
absurd  tones  and  half-tones,  and  is  nearly 
insupportable.  Cynthia  is  much  more  sen- 
sible, but  Lucius  is  a  nuisance,  and  Char- 
mides,  by  the  way,  has  become  absurdly 
jealous  of  him.  They  really  are  very  silly ; 
but  I  have  a  pleasant  plot,  which  I  will 
unfold  to  you." 

As  we  went  down  the  interminable  stairs, 
I  said  to  Amroth,  "  There  is  a  question  I 
want  to  ask  you.  Why  do  we  have  to  go 
and  come,  up  and  down,  backwards  and  for- 
wards, in  this  absurd  way,  as  if  we  were 


212       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

still  in  the  body?  Why  not  just  slip  off 
the  leads,  and  fly  down  over  the  crags  like 
a  pair  of  pigeons?  It  all  seems  to  me  so 
terribly  material." 

Amroth  looked  at  me  with  a  smile.  "  I 
don't  advise  you  to  try,"  he  said.  "  Why, 
little  brother,  of  course  we  are  just  as 
limited  here  in  these  ways.  The  material 
laws  of  earth  are  only  a  type  of  the  laws 
here.  They  all  have  a  meaning  which  re- 
mains true." 

"  But,"  1  said,  "  we  can  visit  the  earth 
with  incredible  rapidity?  " 

"How  can  I  explain?"  said  Amroth. 
^*  Of  course  we  can  do  that,  because  the 
material  universe  is  so  extremely  small  in 
comparison.  All  the  stars  in  the  world  are 
here  but  as  a  heap  of  sand,  like  the  motes 
which  dance  in  a  sunbeam.  There  is  no 
question  of  size,  of  course!  But  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  spiritual  nearness  and 
spiritual  distance  for  all  that.  The  souls 
who  do  not  return  to  earth  are  very  far  off, 
as  you  will   sometime  see.     But  we  mes- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       213 

sengers  have  our  short  cuts,  and  I  shall 
take  advantage  of  them  to-day." 

We  went  out  of  the  great  door  of  the 
fortress,  and  I  felt  a  sense  of  relief.  It 
was  good  to  put  it  all  behind  one.  For  a 
long  time  I  talked  to  Amroth  about  all  m}' 
doings.  "  Come,"  he  said  at  last,  "  this  will 
never  do !  You  are  becoming  something  of 
a  bore!  Do  you  know  that  your  talk  is 
very  provincial?  You  seem  to  have  for- 
gotten about  every  one  and  everything  ex- 
cept your  Philips  and  Annas — very  worthy 
creatures,  no  doubt — and  the  Master,  who 
is  a  very  able  man,  but  not  the  little  demi- 
god you  believe.  You  are  hypnotised!  It 
is  indeed  time  for  you  to  have  a  holiday. 
Why,  I  believe  you  have  half  forgotten  about 
me,  and  yet  you  made  a  great  fuss  when  I 
quitted  you." 

I  smiled,  frowned,  blushed.  It  was  in- 
deed true.  Now  that  he  was  with  me  I 
loved  him  as  well,  indeed  better  than  ever; 
but  I  had  not  been  thinking  very  much 
about  him. 


214       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

We  went  over  the  moorlands  in  the  keen 
air,  Amroth  striding  cleanly  and  lightly 
over  the  heather.  Then  we  began  to  de- 
scend into  the  valley,  through  a  fine  forest 
country,  somewhat  like  the  chestnut-woods 
of  the  Apennines.  The  view  was  of  incom- 
parable beauty  and  width.  I  could  see  a 
great  city  far  out  in  the  plain,  with  a  river 
entering  it  and  leaving  it,  like  a  ribbon  of 
silver.  There  were  rolling  ridges  beyond. 
On  the  left  rose  huge,  shadowy,  snow-clad 
hills,  rising  to  one  tremendous  dome  of 
snow. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  take  me?  "  I 
said  to  Amroth. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  he ;  "  it 's  my  day 
and  my  plan  for  once.  You  shall  see  what 
you  shall  see,  and  it  will  amuse  me  to  hear 
your  ingenuous  conjectures." 

We  were  soon  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city 
we  had  seen,  which  seemed  a  different  kind 
of  place  from  any  I  had  yet  visited.  It  was 
built,  I  perceived,  upon  an  exactly  conceived 
plan,  of  a  stately,  classical  kind  of  architec- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       215 

ture,  with  great  gateways  and  colonnades. 
There  were  people  about,  rather  silent  and 
serious-looking,  soberly  clad,  who  saluted  us 
as  we  passed,  but  made  no  attempt  to  talk 
to  us.  "  This  is  rather  a  tiresome  place, 
I  always  think,"  said  Amroth ;  "  but  you 
ought  to  see  it." 

We  went  along  the  great  street  and 
reached  a  square.  I  was  surprised  at  the 
elderly  air  of  all  we  met.  We  found  our- 
selves opposite  a  great  building  with  a 
dome,  like  a  church.  People  were  going  in 
under  the  portico,  and  we  went  in  with 
them.  They  treated  us  as  strangers,  and 
made  courteous  way  for  us  to  pass. 

Inside,  the  footfalls  fell  dumbly  upon  a 
great  carpeted  floor.  It  was  very  like  a  great 
church,  except  that  there  was  no  altar  or 
sign  of  worship.  At  the  far  end,  under  an 
alcove,  was  a  statue  of  w^hite  marble  gleam- 
ing white,  with  head  and  hand  uplifted. 
The  whole  place  had  a  solemn  and  noble 
air.  Out  of  the  central  nave  there  opened 
a  series  of  great  vaulted  chapels;  and  I 


2i6       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

could  now  see  that  in  each  chapel  there  was 
a  dark  figure,  in  a  sort  of  pulpit,  addressing 
a  standing  audience.  There  were  names  on 
scrolls  over  the  doors  of  the  light  iron-work 
screens  which  separated  the  chapels  from 
the  nave,  but  they  were  in  a  language  I 
did  not  understand. 

Amroth  stopped  at  the  third  of  the 
chapels,  and  said,  "  Here,  this  will  do." 
We  came  in,  and  as  before  there  was  a 
courteous  notice  taken  of  us.  A  man  in 
black  came  forward,  and  led  us  to  a  high 
seat,  like  a  pew,  near  the  preacher,  from 
which  we  could  survey  the  crowd.  I  was 
struck  with  their  look  of  weariness  com- 
bined with  intentness. 

The  lecturer,  a  young  man,  had  made  a 
pause,  but  upon  our  taking  our  places,  he 
resumed  his  speech.  It  was  a  discourse,  as 
far  as  I  could  make  out,  on  the  develop- 
ment of  poetry;  he  was  speaking  of  lyrical 
poetry.  I  will  not  here  reproduce  it.  I 
will  only  say  that  anything  more  acute,  deli- 
cate, and  discriminating,  and,  I  must  add, 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn      217 

more  entirely  valueless  and  pecjantic,  I  do 
not  think  I  ever  heard.  It  must  have  re- 
quired immense  and  complicated  knowledge. 
He  was  tracing  the  development  of  a  certain 
kind  of  dramatic  lyric,  and  what  surprised 
me  was  that  he  supplied  the  subtle  intellec- 
tual connection,  the  missing  links,  so  to 
speak,  of  which  there  is  no  earthly  record. 
Let  me  give  a  single  instance.  He  was 
accounting  for  a  rather  sudden  change  of 
thought  in  a  well-known  poet,  and  he 
showed  that  it  had  been  brought  about  by 
his  making  the  acquaintance  of  a  certain 
friend  who  had  introduced  him  to  a  new 
range  of  subjects,  and  by  his  study  of  cer- 
tain books.  These  facts  are  unrecorded  in 
his  published  biography,  but  the  analysis 
of  the  lecturer,  done  in  a  few  pointed  sen- 
tences, not  only  carried  conviction  to  the 
mind,  but  just,  so  to  speak,  laid  the  truth 
bare.  And  yet  it  was  all  to  me  incredibly 
sterile  and  arid.  Not  the  slightest  interest 
was  taken  in  the  emotional  or  psychological 
side;  it  was  all  purely  and  exactly  scientific. 


21 8        The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

We  waited  until  the  end  of  the  address, 
which  was  greeted  with  decorous  applause, 
and  the  hall  was  emptied  in  a  moment. 

We  visited  other  chapels  where  the  same 
sort  of  thing  was  going  on  in  other  subjects. 
It  all  produced  in  me  a  sort  of  stupefac- 
tion, both  at  the  amazing  knowledge  in- 
volved, and  in  the  essential  futility  of  it 
all. 

Before  we  left  the  building  we  went  up 
to  the  statue,  which  represented  a  female 
figure,  looking  upwards,  with  a  pure  and 
delicate  beauty  of  form  and  gesture  that 
was  inexpressibly  and  coldly  lovely. 

We  went  out  in  silence,  which  seemed 
to  be  the  rule  of  the  place. 

When  we  came  away  from  the  building 
we  were  accosted  by  a  very  grave  and 
courteous  person,  who  said  that  he  per- 
ceived that  we  were  strangers,  and  asked 
if  he  could  be  of  any  service  to  us,  and 
whether  we  proposed  to  make  a  stay  of  any 
duration.  Amroth  thanked  him,  and  said 
smilingly     that    we    were     only     passing 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       219 

through.  The  gentleman  said  that  it  was 
a  pity,  because  there  was  much  of  interest 
to  hear.  "  In  this  place/'  he  said  with  a 
deprecating  gesture,  "  we  grudge  every  hour 
that  is  not  devoted  to  thought."  He  went 
on  to  inquire  if  we  were  following  any  par- 
ticular line  of  study,  and  as  our  answers 
were  unsatisfactory,  he  said  that  we  could 
not  do  better  than  begin  by  attending  the 
school  of  literature.  "  I  observed,"  he  said, 
"  that  you  were  listening  to  our  Professor, 
Sylvanus,  with  attention.  He  is  devoting 
himself  to  the  development  of  poetical  form. 
It  is  a  rich  subject.  It  has  generally  been 
believed  that  poets  work  by  a  sort  of  native 
inspiration,  and  that  the  poetic  gift  is  a 
sort  of  heightening  of  temperament.  But 
Sylvanus  has  proved — I  think  I  may  go  so 
far  as  to  say  this — that  this  is  all  pure 
fancy,  and  what  is  worse,  unsound  fancy. 
It  is  all  merely  a  matter  of  heredity,  and 
the  apparent  accidents  on  which  poetical 
expression  depends  can  be  analysed  exactly 
and  precisely  into  the  most  commonplace 


220       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

and  simple  elements.  It  is  only  a  question 
of  proportion.  Now  we  who  value  clear- 
ness of  mind  above  everything,  find  this  a 
very  refreshing  thought.  The  real  crown 
and  sum  of  human  achievement,  in  the  in- 
tellectual domain,  is  to  see  things  clearly 
and  exactly,  and  upon  that  clearness  all 
progress  depends.  We  have  disposed  by 
this  time  of  most  illusions;  and  the  same 
scientific  method  is  being  strenuously  ap- 
plied to  all  other  processes  of  human  en- 
deavour. It  is  even  hinted  that  Sylvanus 
has  practically  proved  that  the  imaginative 
element  in  literature  is  purely  a  taint  of 
barbarism,  though  he  has  not  yet  announced 
the  fact.  But  many  of  his  class  are  looking 
forward  to  his  final  lecture  on  the  subject  as 
to  a  profoundly  sensational  event,  which  is 
likely  to  set  a  deep  mark  upon  all  our  con- 
ceptions of  literary  endeavour.  So  that," 
he  said  with  a  tolerant  smile,  gently  rubbing 
his  hands  together,  "  our  life  here  is  not  by 
any  means  destitute  of  the  elements  of  ex- 
citement, though  we  most  of  us,  of  course, 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       221 

aim  at  the  acquisition  of  a  serene  and  philo- 
sophic temper.  But  I  must  not  delay 
you,"  he  added ;  "  there  is  much  to  see  and 
to  hear,  and  you  will  be  welcomed  every- 
where: and  indeed  I  am  myself  somewhat 
closely  engaged,  though  in  a  subject  which 
is  not  fraught  with  such  polite  emollience. 
I  attend  the  school  of  metaphysics,  from 
which  we  have  at  last,  I  hope,  eliminated 
the  last  traces  of  that  debasing  element  of 
psychology,  which  has  so  long  vitiated  the 
exact  study  of  the  subject." 

He  took  himself  off  with  a  bow,  and  I 
gazed  blankly  at  Amroth.  "  The  conversa- 
tion of  that  very  polite  person,"  I  said,  "  is 
like  a  bad  dream!  What  is  this  extraor- 
dinarily depressing  place?  Shall  I  have  to 
undergo  a  course  here?  " 

"  No,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Amroth.  "  This 
is  rather  out  of  your  depth.  But  I  am 
somewhat  disappointed  at  your  view  of  the 
situation.  Surely  these  are  all  very  import- 
ant matters?  Your  disposition  is,  I  am 
afraid,    incurably    frivolous!      How    could 


222       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

people  be  more  worthily  employed  than  in 
getting  rid  of  the  last  traces  of  intellectual 
error,  and  in  referring  everything  to  its 
actual  origin?  Did  not  your  heart  bum 
within  you  at  his  luminous  exposition?  I 
had  always  thought  you  a  boy  of  intellectual 
promise." 

"  Amroth/'  I  said,  "  I  will  not  be  made 
fun  of.  This  is  the  most  dreadful  place  I 
have  ever  seen  or  conceived  of!  It  fright- 
ens me.  The  dryness  of  pure  science  is 
terrifying  enough,  but  after  all  that  has  a 
kind  of  strange  beauty,  because  it  deals 
either  with  transcendental  ideas  of  mathe- 
matical relation,  or  with  the  deducing  of 
principle  from  accumulated  facts.  But 
here  the  object  appears  to  be  to  eliminate 
the  human  element  from  humanity.  I  in- 
sist ujwn  knowing  where  you  have  brought 
me,  and  what  is  going  on  here." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Amroth,  "  I  will  con- 
ceal it  from  you  no  longer.  This  is  the 
paradise  of  thought,  where  meagre  and 
spurious  philosophers,   and  all   who  have 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       223 

submerged  life  in  intellect,  have  their  re- 
ward. It  u\  as  you  say,  a  very  dreary  place 
for  children  of  nature  like  you  and  me. 
But  I  do  not  suppose  that  there  is  a  hap- 
pier or  a  busier  place  in  all  our  dominions. 
The  worst  of  it  is  that  it  is  so  terribly  hard 
to  get  out  of.  It  is  a  blind  alley  and  leads 
nowhere.  Every  step  has  to  be  retraced. 
These  people  have  to  get  a  very  severe  dose 
of  homely  life  to  do  them  any  good;  and 
the  worst  of  it  is  that  they  are  so  entirely 
virtuous.  They  have  never  had  the  time  or 
the  inclination  to  be  anything  else.  And 
they  are  among  the  most  troublesome  and 
undisciplined  of  all  our  people.  But  I  see 
you  have  had  enough ;  and  unless  you  wish 
to  wait  for  Professor  Sylvanus's  sensational 
pronouncement,  we  will  go  elsewhere,  and 
have  some  other  sort  of  fun.  But  you  must 
not  be  so  much  upset  by  these  things.'' 

"  It  would  kill  me/'  I  said,  "  to  hear  any 
more  of  these  lectures,  and  if  I  had  to 
listen  to  much  of  our  polite  friend's  con- 
yersation,  I  should  go  out  of  my  mind.     I 


224       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

would  rather  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
cragmen!  I  would  rather  have  a  stand-uij 
fight  than  be  slowly  stifled  with  interesting 
information.  But  where  do  these  unhappy 
people  come  from?  " 

"  A  few^  come  from  universities,"  said 
Amroth,  "  but  they  are  not  as  a  rule  really 
learned  men.  They  are  more  the  sort  of 
people  who  subscribe  to  libraries,  and  be- 
long to  local  literary  societies,  and  go  into 
a  good  many  subjects  on  their  own  account. 
But  really  learned  men  are  almost  always 
more  aware  of  their  ignorance  than  of  their 
knowledge,  and  recognise  the  vitality  of 
life,  even  if  they  do  not  always  exhibit  it. 
But  come,  we  are  losing  time,  and  we  must 
go  further  afield." 


XXII 

We  went  some  considerable  distance,  after 
leaving  our  intellectual  friends,  through 
very  beautiful  wooded  country,  and  as  we 
went  we  talked  with  much  animation  about 
the  intellectual  life  and  its  dangers.  It 
had  always,  I  confess,  appeared  to  me  a 
harmless  life  enough;  not  very  effective, 
perhaps,  and  possibly  liable  to  encourage 
a  man  in  a  trivial  sort  of  self-conceit;  but 
I  had  always  looked  upon  that  as  an  in- 
stinctive kind  of  self-respect,  which  kept  an 
intellectual  person  from  dwelling  too  sorely 
upon  the  sense  of  ineffectiveness;  as  an  ad- 
diction not  more  serious  in  its  effects  upon 
character  than  the  practice  of  playing 
golf,  a  thing  in  which  a  leisurely  person 
might  immerse  himself,  and  cultivate  a  de- 
cent sense  of  self-importance.  But  Amroth 
showed  me  that  the  danger  of  it  lay  in 
IS  225 


226       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

the  tendency  to  consider  the  intellect  to  be 
the  basis  of  all  life  and  progress.  "  The 
intellectual  man,"  he  said,  "  is  inclined  to 
confuse  his  own  acute  perception  of  the 
movement  of  thought  with  the  originating 
impulse  of  that  movement.  But  of  course 
thought  is  a  thing  which  ebbs  and  flows, 
like  public  opinion,  according  to  its  own 
laws,  and  is  not  originated  but  only  per- 
ceived by  men  of  intellectual  ability.  The 
danger  of  it  is  a  particularly  arid  sort  of 
self-conceit.  It  is  as  if  the  Lady  of  Shalott 
were  to  suppose  that  she  created  life  by 
observing  and  rendering  it  in  her  magic 
web,  whereas  her  devotion  to  her  task 
simply  isolates  her  from  the  contact  with 
other  minds  and  hearts,  which  is  the  one 
thing  worth  having.  That  is,  of  course, 
the  danger  of  the  artist  as  well  as  of  the 
philosopher.  They  both  stand  aside  from 
the  throng,  and  are  so  much  absorbed  in 
the  aspect  of  thought  and  emotion  that  they 
do  not  realise  that  they  are  separated  from 
it.     They   are   consequently   spared,    when 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       227 

they  come  here,  the  punishment  which  falls 
upon  those  who  have  mixed  greedily,  self- 
ishly, and  cruelly  with  life,  of  which  you 
will  have  a  sight  before  long.  But  that 
place  of  punishment  is  not  nearly  so  sad 
or  depressing  a  place  as  the  paradise  of 
delight,  and  the  paradise  of  intellect,  be- 
cause the  sufferers  have  no  desire  to  stay 
there,  can  repent  and  feel  ashamed,  and 
therefore  can  suffer,  which  is  always  hope- 
ful. But  the  artistic  and  intellectual  have 
really  starved  their  capacity  for  suffering, 
the  one  by  treating  all  emotion  as  spec- 
tacular, and  the  other  by  treating  it  as  a 
puerile  interruption  to  serious  things.  It 
takes  people  a  long  time  to  work  their  way 
out  of  self-satisfaction !  But  there  is  an- 
other curious  place  I  wish  you  to  visit. 
It  is  a  dreadful  place  in  a  way,  but  by  no 
means  consciously  unhappy,"  and  Amroth 
pointed  to  a  great  building  which  stood  on 
a  slope  of  the  hill  above  the  forest,  with 
a  wide  and  beautiful  view  from  it.  Before 
very  long  we  came  to  a  high  stone  wall  with 


228       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

a  gate  carefully  guarded.  Here  Amroth 
said  a  few  words  to  a  porter,  and  we  went 
up  through  a  beautiful  terraced  park.  In 
the  park  we  saw  little  knots  of  people  walk- 
ing aimlessly  about,  and  a  few  more  soli- 
tary figures.  But  in  each  case  they  were 
accompanied  by  people  whom  I  saw  to  be 
warders.  We  passed  indeed  close  to  an 
elderly  man,  rather  fantastically  dressed, 
who  looked  possessed  with  a  kind  of  flighty 
cheerfulness.  He  was  talking  to  himself 
with  odd,  emphatic  gestures,  as  if  he  were 
ticking  off  the  points  of  a  speech.  He  came 
up  to  us  and  made  us  an  effusive  greeting, 
praising  the  situation  and  convenience  of 
the  place,  and  wishing  us  a  pleasant  so- 
journ. He  then  was  silent  for  a  moment, 
and  added,  "  Now  there  is  a  matter  of  some 
importance  on  which  I  should  like  your 
opinion."  At  this  the  warder  who  was  with 
him,  a  strong,  stolid-looking  man,  with  an 
expression  at  once  slightly  contemptuous 
and  obviously  kind,  held  up  his  hand  and 
said,  "You  will,  no  doubt,  sir,  remember 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       229 

that  you  have  undertaken — "  "  Not  a  word, 
not  a  word,"  said  our  friend ;  "  of  course 
you  are  right!  I  have  really  nothing  to 
say  to  these  gentlemen." 

We  went  up  to  the  building,  which  now 
became  visible,  with  its  long  and  stately 
front  of  stone.  Here  again  we  were  ad- 
mitted with  some  precaution,  and  after  a 
few  minutes  there  came  a  tall  and  bene- 
volent-looking man,  to  whom  Amroth  spoke 
at  some  length.  The  man  then  came  up  to 
me,  said  that  he  was  very  glad  to  welcome 
me,  and  that  he  would  be  delighted  to  show 
us  the  place. 

We  went  through  fine  and  airy  corridors, 
into  which  many  doors,  as  of  cells,  opened. 
Occasionally  a  man  or  a  woman,  attended 
by  a  male  or  a  female  warder,  passed  us. 
The  inmates  had  all  the  same  kind  of  air 
— a  sort  of  amused  dignity,  which  was  very 
marked.  Presently  our  companion  opened 
a  door  with  his  key  and  we  went  in.  It 
was  a  small,  pleasantly-furnished  room. 
Some  books,  apparently  of  devotion,  lay  on 


230       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

the  table.  There  was  a  little  kneeling-desk 
near  the  window,  and  the  room  had  a  half- 
monastic  air  about  it.  When  we  entered, 
an  elderly  man,  with  a  very  serene  face, 
was  looking  earnestly  into  the  door  of  a 
cupboard  in  the  wall,  which  he  was  holding 
open;  there  was,  so  far  as  I  could  see, 
nothing  in  the  cupboard;  but  the  inmate 
seemed  to  be  struggling  with  an  access  of 
rather  overpowering  mirth.  He  bowed  to 
us.  Our  conductor  greeted  him  respect- 
fully, and  then  said,  "  There  is  a  stranger 
here  who  would  like  a  little  conversation 
with  you,  if  you  can  spare  the  time." 

"  By  all  means,"  said  the  inmate,  with  a 
very  ingratiating  smile.  "  It  is  very  kind 
of  him  to  call  upon  me,  and  my  time  is 
entirely  at  his  disposal." 

Our  conductor  said  to  me  that  he  and 
Amroth  had  some  brief  business  to  transact, 
and  that  they  would  call  for  me  again  in 
a  moment.  The  inmate  bowed,  and  seemed 
almost  impatient  for  them  to  depart.  He 
motioned  me  to  a  chair,  and  the  moment 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       231 

they  left  us  he  began  to  talk  with  great 
animation.     He  asked  me  if  I  was  a  new 
inmate,  and  when  I  said  no,  only  a  visitor, 
he  looked  at  me  compassionately,   saying 
that  he  hoped  I  might  some  day  attain  to 
the   privilege.     "  This,"    he   said,    "  is   the 
abode  of  final  and  lasting  peace.     No  one 
is    admitted    here    unless    his    convictions 
are  of  the  firmest  and  most  ardent  char- 
acter; it  is  a  reward  for  faithful  service. 
But  as  our  time  is  short,  I  must  tell  you," 
he  said,  "  of  a  very  curious  experience  I 
have  had  this  very  morning — a  spiritua 
experience  of  the  most  reassuring  character 
You  must  know  that  I  held  a  high  officia 
position  in  the  religious  world — I  will  men 
tion  no  details — and  I  found  at  an  early 
age,  I  am  glad  to  say,  the  imperative  neces 
sity  of  forming  absolutely  impregnable  con 
victions.     I  went  to  work  in  the  most  busi 
ness-like   way.     I   devoted   some  years   to 
hard   reading   and    solid    thought,    and    I 
found  that  the  sect  to  which   I   belonged 
was  lacking  in  certain  definite  notes  of  di- 


232       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

vine  truth,  while  the  iveight  of  evidence 
pointed  in  the  clearest  possible  manner  to 
the  fact  that  one  particular  section  of  the 
Church  had  preserved  absolutely  intact  the 
primitive  faith  of  the  Saints,  and  was  with- 
out any  shadow  of  doubt  the  perfectly 
logical  development  of  the  principles  of  the 
Gospel.  Mine  is  not  a  nature  that  can 
admit  of  compromise;  and  at  considerable 
sacrifice  of  worldly  prospects  I  transferred 
my  allegiance,  and  was  instantly  rewarded 
by  a  perfect  serenity  of  conviction  which 
has  never  faltered. 

"  I  had  a  friend  with  whom  I  had  often 
discussed  the  matter,  who  was  much  o±  my 
way  of  thinking.  But  though  I  showed  him 
the  illogical  nature  of  his  position,  he  hung 
back — whether  from  material  motives  or 
from  mere  emotional  associations  I  will  not 
now  stop  to  inquire.  But  I  could  not 
palter  with  the  truth.  I  expostulated  with 
him,  and  pointed  out  to  him  in  the  sternest 
terms  the  eternal  distinctions  involved.  I 
broke  off  all  relations  with  him  ultimately. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       233 

And  after  a  life  spent  in  the  most  solemn 
and  candid  denunciation  of  the  fluidity  of 
religious  belief,  which  is  the  curse  of  our 
age,  though  it  involved  me  in  many  of  the 
heart-rending  suspensions  of  human  inter- 
course with  my  nearest  and  dearest  so 
plainly  indicated  in  the  Gospel,  I  passed 
at  length,  in  complete  tranquillity,  to  my 
final  rest.  The  first  duty  of  the  sincere  be- 
liever is  inflexible  intolerance.  If  a  man 
will  not  recognise  the  truth  when  it  is 
plainly  presented  to  him,  he  must  accept 
the  eternal  consequences  of  his  act — separa- 
tion from  God,  and  absorption  in  guilty 
and  awestruck  regret,  which  admits  of  no 
repentance. 

"  One  of  the  privileges  of  our  sojourn 
here  is  that  we  have  a  strange  and  beauti- 
ful device — a  window,  I  will  call  it — which 
admits  one  to  a  sight  of  the  spiritual  world. 
I  was  to-day  contemplating,  not  without 
pain,  but  with  absolute  confidence  in  its 
justice,  the  sufferings  of  some  of  these  lost 
souls,  and  I  observed,  I  cannot  say  with 


234       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

satisfaction,  but  with  complete  submission, 
the  form  of  my  friend,  whom  my  testimony 
might  have  saved,  in  eternal  misery.  I 
have  the  tenderest  heart  of  any  man  alive. 
It  has  cost  me  a  sore  struggle  to  subdue  it 
— it  is  more  unruly  even  than  the  will — 
but  you  may  imagine  that  it  is  a  matter 
of  deep  and  comforting  assurance  to  reflect 
that  on  earth  the  door,  the  one  door,  to 
salvation  is  clearly  and  plainly  indicated 
— though  few  there  be  that  find  it — and 
that  this  signal  mercy  has  been  vouchsafed 
to  me.  I  have  then  the  peace  of  knowing, 
not  only  that  my  choice  was  right,  but  that 
all  those  to  whom  the  truth  is  revealed  have 
the  power  to  choose  it.  I  am  a  firm  be- 
liever in  the  uncovenanted  mercies  vouch- 
safed to  those  who  have  not  had  the 
advantages  of  clear  presentment,  but  for 
the  deliberately  unfaithful,  for  all  sinners 
against  light,  the  sentence  is  inflexible." 

He  closed  his  eyes,  and  a  smile  played 
over  his  features. 

I  found  it  very  difficult  to  say  anything 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       235 

in  answer  to  this  monologue;  but  I  asked 
my  companion  whether  he  did  not  think 
that  some  clearer  revelation  might  be 
made,  after  the  bodily  death,  to  those  who 
for  some  human  frailty  were  unable  to 
receive  it. 

"  An  intelligent  question,"  said  my  com- 
panion, "  but  I  am  obliged  to  answer  in  the 
negative.  Of  course  the  case  is  different 
for  those  who  have  accepted  the  truth  loy- 
ally, even  if  their  record  is  stained  by  the 
foulest  and  most  detestable  of  crimes.  It 
is  the  moral  and  intellectual  adhesion  that 
matters;  that  once  secured,  conduct  is 
comparatively  unimportant,  if  the  soul  duly 
recurs  to  the  medicine  of  penitence  and  con- 
trition so  mercifully  provided.  I  have  the 
utmost  indulgence  for  every  form  of  human 
frailty.  I  may  say  that  I  never  shrank 
from  contact  with  the  grossest  and  vilest 
forms  of  continuous  wrong-doing,  so  long  as 
I  was  assured  that  the  true  doctrines  were 
unhesitatingly  and  submissively  accepted. 
A    soul    which    admits    the    supremacy    of 


236       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

authority  can  go  astray  like  a  sheep  that 
is  lost,  but  as  long  as  it  recognises  its  fold 
and  the  authority  of  the  divine  law,  it  can 
be  sought  and  found. 

"  The  little  window  of  which  I  spoke  has 
given  me  indubitable  testimony  of  this. 
There  was  a  man  I  knew  in  the  flesh,  who 
was  regarded  as  a  monster  of  cruelty  and 
selfishness.  He  ill-treated  his  wife  and  mis- 
used his  children;  his  life  was  spent  in 
gross  debauchery,  and  his  conduct  on  sev- 
eral occasions  outstepped  the  sanctions  of 
legality.  He  was  a  forger  and  an  em- 
bezzler. I  do  not  attempt  to  palliate  his 
faults,  and  there  will  be  a  heavy  reckon- 
ing to  pay.  But  he  made  his  submission 
at  the  last,  after  a  long  and  prostrating 
illness;  and  I  have  ocular  demonstration  of 
the  fact  that,  after  a  mercifully  brief  period 
of  suffering,  he  is  numbered  among  the 
blest.     That  is  a  sustaining  thought." 

He  then  with  much  courtesy  invited  me 
to  partake  of  some  refreshment,  which  I 
gratefully  declined.     Once  or  twice  he  rose, 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       237 

and  opening  the  little  cupboard  door,  which 
revealed  nothing  but  a  white  wall,  he  drank 
in  encouragement  from  some  hidden  sight. 
He  then  invited  me  to  kneel  with  him,  and 
prayed  fervently  and  with  some  emotion 
that  light  might  be  vouchsafed  to  souls  on 
earth  who  were  in  darkness.  Just  as  he 
concluded,  Amroth  appeared  with  our  con- 
ductor. The  latter  made  a  courteous  in- 
quiry after  my  host's  health  and  comfort. 
"  I  am  perfectly  happy  here,"  he  said, 
"  perfectly  happy.  The  attentions  I  receive 
are  indeed  more  than  I  deserve;  and  I 
am  specially  grateful  to  my  kind  visitor, 
whose  indulgence  I  must  beg  for  my  some- 
what prolonged  statement — but  when  one 
has  a  cause  much  at  heart,"  he  added 
with  a  smile,  "some  prolixity  is  easily 
excused." 

As  we  re-entered  the  corridor,  our  con- 
ductor asked  me  if  I  would  care  to  pay 
any  more  visits.  "  The  case  you  have  seen," 
he  said,  "  is  an  extremely  typical  and  in- 
teresting one." 


238       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

"  Have  you  any  hope,"  said  Amroth,  "  of 
recovery?  " 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  said  our  con- 
ductor with  a  smile.  "  Nothing  is  hope- 
less here;  our  cures  are  complete  and  even 
rapid;  but  this  is  a  particularly  obstinate 
one !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Amroth,  "  would  you  like 
to  see  more?  " 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  I  have  seen  enough.  I 
cannot  now  bear  any  more." 

Our  conductor  smiled  indulgently. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "it  is  bewildering  at 
first;  but  one  sees  wonderful  things  here! 
This  is  our  library,"  he  added,  leading  us 
to  a  great  airy  room,  full  of  books  and 
reading-desks,  where  a  large  number  of  in- 
mates were  sitting  reading  and  writing. 
They  glanced  up  at  us  with  friendly  and 
contented  smiles.  A  little  further  on  we 
came  to  another  cell,  before  which  our  con- 
ductor stopped,  and  looked  at  me.  "  I 
should  like,"  he  said,  "  if  you  are  not  too 
tired,  just  to  take  you  in   here;   there   is 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       239 

a  patient,  who  is  very  near  recovery  indeed, 
in  here,  and  it  would  do  him  good  to  have 
a  little  talk  with  a  stranger." 

I  bowed,  and  we  went  in.  A  man  was 
sitting  in  a  chair  with  his  head  in  his  hands. 
An  attendant  was  sitting  near  the  window 
reading  a  book.  The  patient,  at  our  entry, 
removed  his  hands  from  his  face  and  looked 
up,  half  impatiently,  with  an  air  of  great 
suffering,  and  then  slowly  rose. 

"  How  are  you  feeling,  dear  sir?  "  said 
our  conductor  quietly. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  man,  looking  at  us,  "  I 
am  better,  much  better.  The  light  is  break- 
ing in,  but  it  is  a  sore  business,  when  I 
was  so  strong  in  my  pride." 

"  Ah,"  said  our  guide,  "  it  is  indeed  a 
slow  process ;  but  happiness  and  health  must 
be  purchased;  and  every  day  I  see  clearly 
that  you  are  drawing  nearer  to  the  end  of 
your  troubles — ^you  will  soon  be  leaving  us! 
But  now  I  want  you  kindly  to  bestir  your- 
self, and  talk  a  little  to  this  friend  of  ours, 
who  has  not  been  long  with  us,  and  finds 


240       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

the  place  somewhat  bewildering.  You  will 
be  able  to  tell  him  something  of  what  is 
passing  in  your  mind;  it  will  do  you  good 
to  put  it  into  words,  and  it  will  be  a  help 
to  him." 

"  Very  well,'"  said  the  man  gravely,  "  I 
will  do  my  best."  And  the  others  with- 
drew, leaving  me  with  the  man.  When  they 
had  gone,  the  man  asked  me  to  be  seated, 
and  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand  he  said, 
"  I  do  not  know  how  much  you  know  and 
how  little,  so  I  will  tell  you  that  I  left 
the  world  very  confident  in  a  particular 
form  of  faith,  and  very  much  disposed  to 
despise  and  even  to  dislike  those  who  did 
not  agree  with  me.  I  had  lived,  I  may  say, 
uprightly  and  purely,  and  I  will  confess 
that  I  even  welcomed  all  signs  of  laxity 
and  sinfulness  in  my  opponents,  because  it 
proved  what  I  believed,  that  wrong  con- 
duct sprang  naturally  from  wrong  belief. 
I  came  here  in  great  content,  and  thought 
that  this  place  was  the  reward  of  faithful 
living.     But  I  had  a  great  shock.     I  was 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       241 

very  tenderly  attached  to  one  whom  I  left 
on  earth,  and  the  severest  grief  of  my  life 
was  that  she  did  not  think  as  I  did,  but 
used  to  plead  with  me  for  a  wider  outlook 
and  a  larger  faith  in  the  designs  of  God. 
She  used  to  say  to  me  that  she  felt  that 
God  had  different  ways  of  saving  different 
people,  and  that  people  were  saved  by  love 
and  not  by  doctrine.  And  this  I  combated 
with  all  my  might.  I  used  to  say,  '  Doc- 
trine first,  and  love  afterwards,'  to  which 
she  often  said,  ^  No,  love  is  first ! ' 

"  Well,  some  time  ago  I  had  a  sight  of 
her;  she  had  died,  and  entered  this  world 
of  ours.  She  was  in  a  very  different  place 
from  this,  but  she  thought  of  me  witjiout 
ceasing,  and  her  desire  prevailed.  I  saw 
her,  though  I  was  hidden  from  her,  and 
looked  into  her  heart,  and  discerned  that 
the  one  thing  which  spoiled  her  joy  was 
that  I  was  parted  from  her. 

"And  after  that  I  had  no  more  delight 

in  my  security.     I  began  to  suffer  and  to 

yearn.     And  then,  little  by  little,  I  began 
16       .  . 


242       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

to  see  that  it  is  love  after  all  which  binds 
us  together,  and  which  draws  us  to  God; 
but  my  difficulty  is  this,  that  I  still  believe 
that  my  faith  is  true;  and  if  that  is  true, 
then  other  faiths  cannot  be  true  also,  and 
then  I  fall  into  sad  bewilderment  and  de- 
spair." He  stopped  and  looked  at  me 
fixedly. 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  if  I  may  carry  the 
thought  further,  might  not  all  be  true? 
Two  men  may  be  very  unlike  each  other 
in  form  and  face  and  thought — ^yet  both 
are  very  man.  It  would  be  foolish  arguing, 
if  a  man  were  to  say,  '  I  am  indeed  a  man, 
and  because  my  friend  is  unlike  me — taller, 
lighter-complexioned,  swifter  of  thought — 
therefore  he  cannot  be  a  man.'  Or,  again, 
two  men  may  travel  by  the  same  road,  and 
see  many  different  things,  yet  it  is  the 
same  road  they  have  both  travelled;  and 
one  need  not  say  to  the  other,  '  You  cannot 
have  travelled  by  the  same  road,  because 
you  did  not  see  the  violets  on  the  bank 
under  the  wood,  or  the  spire  that  peeped 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       243 

through  the  trees  at  the  folding  of  the 
valleys — and  therefore  you  are  a  liar  and 
a  deceiver !  •  If  one  believes  firmly  in  one's 
own  faith,  one  need  not  therefore  say  that 
all  who  do  not  hold  it  are  perverse  and 
wilful.  There  is  no  excuse,  indeed,  for  not 
holding  to  what  we  believe  to  be  true,  but 
there  is  no  excuse  either  for  interfering 
with  the  sincere  belief  of  another,  unless 
one  can  persuade  him  he  is  wrong.  Is  not 
the  mistake  to  think  that  one  holds  the 
truth  in  its  entirety,  and  that  one  has  no 
more  to  learn  and  to  perceive?  I  myself 
should  welcome  differences  of  faith,  because 
it  shows  me  that  faith  is  a  larger  thing 
even  than  I  know.  What  another  sees  may 
be  but  a  thought  that  is  hidden  from  me, 
because  the  truth  may  be  seen  from  a  dif- 
ferent angle.  To  complain  that  we  cannot 
see  it  all  is  as  foolish  as  when  the  child 
is  vexed  because  it  cannot  see  the  back  of 
the  moon.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  our 
duty  is  not  to  quarrel  with  others  who  see 
things  that  we  do  not  see,  but  to  rejoice 


244       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

with  them,  if  they  will  allow  us,  and  mean- 
while to  discern  Avhat  is  shown  to  us  as 
faithfully  as  we  can.'' 

The  man  heard  me  with  a  strange  smile. 
"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  you  are  certainly  right, 
and  I  bless  the  goodness  that  sent  you 
hitlier;  but  when  you  are  gone,  I  doubt 
that  I  shall  fall  back  into  my  old  perplex- 
ities, and  say  to  myself  that  though  men 
may  see  different  parts  of  the  same  thing, 
they  cannot  see  the  same  thing  differently." 

"  I  think,"  I  said,  "  that  even  that  is  pos- 
sible, because  on  earth  things  are  often 
mere  symbols,  and  clothe  themselves  in 
material  forms;  and  it  is  the  form  which 
deludes  us.  I  do  not  myself  doubt  that 
grace  flows  into  us  by  very  different  chan- 
nels. We  may  not  deny  the  claim  of  any 
one  to  derive  grace  from  any  source  or 
symbol  that  he  can.  The  only  thing  w^e 
may  and  must  dare  to  dispute  is  the  claim 
that  only  by  one  channel  may  grace  flow. 
But  I  think  that  the  words  of  the  one  whom 
you  loved,  of  whom  you  spoke,  are  indeed 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       245 

true,  and  that  the  love  of  each  other  and 
of  God  is  the  force  which  draws  us,  by 
whatever  rite  or  symbol  or  doctrine  it  may 
be  interpreted.  That,  as  I  read  it,  is  the 
message  of  Christ,  who  gave  up  all  things 
for  utter  love." 

As  I  said  this,  our  guide  and  Amroth 
entered  the  cell.  The  man  rose  up  quickly, 
and  drawing  me  apart,  thanked  me  very 
heartily  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes;  and 
so  we  said  farewell.  When  we  were  out- 
side, I  said  to  the  guide,  "  May  I  ask  you 
one  question?  Would  it  be  of  use  if  I 
remained  here  for  a  time  to  talk  with  that 
poor  man?  It  seemed  a  relief  to  him  to 
open  his  heart,  and  I  would  gladly  be  with 
him  and  try  to  comfort  him." 

The  guide  shook  his  head  kindly.  "  No," 
he  said,  "  I  think  not.  I  recognise  your 
kindness  very  fully — but  a  soul  like  this 
must  find  the  way  alone;  and  there  is  one 
who  is  helping  him  faster  than  any  of  us 
can  avail  to  do;  and  besides,"  he  added, 
"  he  is  very  near  indeed  to  his  release." 


246       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

So  we  went  to  the  door,  and  said  fare- 
well; and  Amroth  and  I  went  forward. 
Then  I  said  to  him  as  we  went  down 
through  the  terraced  garden,  and  saw  the 
inmates  wandering  about,  lost  in  dreams, 
"  This  must  be  a  sad  place  to  live  in, 
Amroth !  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  he,  "  I  do  not  think 
that  there  are  any  happier  than  those  who 
have  the  charge  here.  When  the  patients 
are  in  the  grip  of  this  disease,  they  are 
themselves  only  too  well  content;  and  it  is 
a  blessed  thing  to  see  the  approach  of  doubt 
and  suffering,  which  means  that  health 
draws  near.  There  is  no  place  in  all  our 
realm  where  one  sees  so  clearly  and  beauti- 
fully the  instant  and  perfect  mercy  of  God, 
and  the  joy  of  pain."  And  so  we  passed 
together  out  of  the  guarded  gate. 


XXIII 

"  Well,"  said  Amroth,  with  a  smile,  as  we 
went  out  into  the  forest,  "  I  am  afraid  that 
the  last  two  visits  have  been  rather  a  strain. 
We  must  find  something  a  little  less  seri- 
ous; but  I  am  going  to  fill  up  all  your 
time.  You  had  got  too  much  taken  up  with 
your  psychology,  and  we  must  not  live  too 
much  on  theory,  and  spin  problems,  like 
the  spider,  out  of  our  own  insides;  but  we 
will  not  spend  too  much  time  in  trudging 
over  this  country,  though  it  is  well  worth 
it.  Did  you  ever  see  anything  more  beauti- 
ful than  those  pine-trees  on  the  slope  there, 
with  the  blue  distance  between  their  stems? 
But  we  must  not  make  a  business  of  land- 
scape-gazing like  our  friend  Oharmides! 
We  are  men  of  affairs,  you  and  I.  Come, 
I  will  show  you  a  thing.  Shut  your  eyes 
247 


248       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

for  a  minute  and  give  me  your  hand. 
Now ! " 

A  sudden  breeze  fanned  my  face,  sweet 
and  odorous,  like  the  wind  out  of  a  wood. 
"  Now,'^  said  Amroth,  "  we  have  arrived ! 
Where  do  you  think  w^e  are?  " 

The  scene  had  changed  in  an  instant. 
We  were  in  a  wide,  level  country,  in  green 
water-meadows,  with  a  full  stream  brim- 
ming its  grassy  banks,  in  willowy  loops. 
Not  far  away,  on  a  gently  rising  ground, 
lay  a  long,  straggling  village,  of  gabled 
houses,  among  high  trees.  It  was  like 
the  sort  of  village  that  you  may  find  in 
the  pleasant  Wiltshire  countryside,  and  the 
sight  filled  me  with  a  rush  of  old  and  joyful 
memories. 

"  It  is  such  a  relief,"  I  said,  "  to  real- 
ise that  if  man  is  made  in  the  image 
of  God,  heaven  is  made  in  the  image  of 
England ! " 

"  That  is  only  how  you  see  it,  child," 
said  Amroth.  "  Some  of  my  own  happiest 
days  were  spent  at  Tooting:  would  you  be 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       249 

surprised  if  I  said  that  it  reminded  me  of 
Tooting?" 

"  I  am  surprised  at  nothing,"  I  said.  "  I 
only  know  that  it  is  all  very  considerate !  " 

We  entered  the  village,  and  found  a  large 
number  of  people,  mostly  young,  going 
cheerfully  about  all  sorts  of  simple  work. 
Many  of  them  were  gardening,  and  the  gar- 
dens were  full  of  old-fashioned  flowers, 
blooming  in  wonderful  profusion.  There 
was  an  air  of  settled  peace  about  the  place, 
the  peace  that  on  earth  one  often  dreamed 
of  finding,  and  indeed  thought  one  had 
found  on  visiting  some  secluded  place — only 
to  discover,  alas !  on  a  nearer  acquaintance, 
that  life  was  as  full  of  anxieties  and  cares 
there  as  elsewhere.  There  were  one  or  two 
elderly  people  going  about,  giving  directions 
or  advice,  or  lending  a  helping  hand.  The 
workers  nodded  blithely  to  us,  but  did  not 
suspend  their  work. 

"  What  surprises  me,"  I  said  to  Amroth, 
"  is  to  find  every  one  so  much  occupied  wher- 
ever we  go.     One  heard  so  much  on  earth 


250       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

about  craving  for  rest,  that  one  grew  to 
fancy  that  the  other  life  was  all  going  to 
be  a  sort  of  solemn  meditation,  with  an 
occasional  hymn." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Amroth,  "  it  was  the 
body  that  was  tired — the  soul  is  always 
fresh  and  strong — but  rest  is  not  idleness. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  unemployment 
here,  and  there  is  hardly  time,  indeed,  for 
all  we  have  to  do.  Every  one  really  loves 
work.  The  child  plays  at  working,  the  man 
of  leisure  works  at  his  play.  The  difference 
here  is  that  work  is  always  amusing — there 
is  no  such  thing  as  drudgery  here." 

We  walked  all  through  the  village,  which 
stretched  far  away  into  the  country.  The 
whole  place  hummed  like  a  beehive  on  a 
July  morning.  Many  sang  to  themselves 
as  they  went  about  their  business,  and 
sometimes  a  couple  of  girls,  meeting  in  the 
roadway,  would  entwine  their  arms  and 
dance  a  few  steps  together,  with  a  kiss  at 
parting.  There  was  a  sense  of  high  spirits 
everywhere.     At   one    place   we   found   a 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       251 

group  of  children  sitting  in  the  shade  of 
some  trees,  while  a  woman  of  middle  age 
told  them  a  story.  We  stood  awhile  to 
listen,  the  woman  giving  us  a  pleasant  nod 
as  we  approached.  It  was  a  story  of  some 
pleasant  adventure,  with  nothing  moral  or 
sentimental  about  it,  like  an  old  folk-tale. 
The  children  were  listening  with  uncon- 
cealed delight. 

When  we  had  walked  a  little  further, 
Amroth  said  to  me,  "  Come,  I  will  give 
you  three  guesses.  Who  do  you  think,  by 
the  light  of  your  psychology,  are  all  these 
simple  people?  "  I  guessed  in  vain.  "  Well, 
I  see  I  must  tell  you,"  he  said.  "  Would 
it  surprise  you  to  learn  that  most  of  these 
people  whom  you  see  here  passed  upon 
earth  for  wicked  and  unsatisfactory  char- 
acters? Yet  it  is  true.  Don't  you  know 
the  kind  of  boys  there  were  at  school,  who 
drifted  into  bad  company  and  idle  ways, 
mostly  out  of  mere  good-nature,  went  out 
into  the  world  with  a  black  mark  against 
them,  having  been  bullied  in  vain  by  virtu- 


252       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

ous  masters,  the  despair  of  their  parents, 
always  losing  their  employments,  and  often 
coming  what  we  used  to  call  social  crop- 
pers— untrustworthy,  sensual,  feckless,  no 
one's  enemy  but  their  own,  and  yet  preserv- 
ing through  it  all  a  kind  of  simple  good- 
nature, always  ready  to  share  things  with 
others,  never  knowing  how  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  any  one,  trusting  the  most 
untrustworthy  people;  or  if  they  were  girls, 
getting  into  trouble,  losing  their  good  name, 
perhaps  living  lives  of  shame  in  big  cities 
— jet,  for  all  that,  guileless,  affectionate, 
never  excusing  themselves,  believing  they 
had  deserved  anything  that  befell  them? 
These  were  the  sort  of  people  to  whom 
Christ  was  so  closely  drawn.  They  have 
no  respectability,  no  conventions;  they  act 
upon  instinct,  never  by  reason,  often  fool- 
ishly, but  seldom  unkindly  or  selfishly. 
They  give  all  they  have,  they  never  take. 
They  have  the  faults  of  children,  and  the 
trustful  affection  of  children.  They  will 
do  anything  for  any  one  who  is  kind  to 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       253 

them  and  fond  of  them.  Of  course  they 
are  what  is  called  hopeless,  and  they  use 
their  poor  bodies  very  ill.  In  their  last 
stages  on  earth  they  are  often  very  deplor- 
able objects,  slinking  into  public-houses, 
plodding  raggedly  and  dismally  along  high- 
roads, suffering  cruelly  and  complaining 
little,  conscious  that  they  are  universally 
reprobated,  and  not  exactly  knowing  why. 
They  are  the  victims  of  society;  they  do 
its  dirty  work,  and  are  cast  away  as  off- 
scourings. They  are  really  youthful  and 
often  beautiful  spirits,  very  void  of  offence, 
and  needing  to  be  treated  as  children.  They 
live  here  in  great  happiness,  and  are  con- 
scious vaguely  of  the  good  and  great  in- 
tention of  God  towards  them.  They  suffer 
in  the  world  at  the  hands  of  cruel,  selfish, 
and  stupid  people,  because  they  are  both 
humble  and  disinterested.  But  in  all  our 
realms  I  do  not  think  there  is  a  place  of 
simpler  and  sweeter  happiness  than  this, 
because  they  do  not  take  their  forgiveness 
as  a  right,  but  as  a  gracious  and  unexpected 


254       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

boon.  And  indeed  the  sights  and  sounds 
of  this  place  are  the  best  medicine  for 
crabbed,  worldly,  conventional  souls,  who 
are  often  brought  here  when  they  are  draw- 
ing near  the  truth." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "this  is  just  what  I 
wanted.  Interesting  as  my  work  has  lately 
been,  it  has  wanted  simplicity.  I  have 
grown  to  consider  life  too  much  as  a  series 
of  cases,  and  to  forget  that  it  is  life  itself 
that  one  must  seek,  and  not  pathology. 
This  is  the  best  sight  I  have  seen,  for  it 
is  so  far  removed  from  all  sense  of  judg- 
ment. The  song  of  the  saints  may  be 
sometimes  of  mercy  too." 


XXIV 

"  And  now,"  said  Amroth,  "  that  we  have 
been  refreshed  by  the  sight  of  this  guile- 
less place,  and  as  our  time  is  running  short, 
I  am  going  to  show  you  something  very 
serious  indeed.  In  fact,  before  I  show  it 
you  I  must  remind  you  carefully  of  one 
thing  which  I  shall  beg  you  to  keep  in  mind. 
There  is  nothing  either  cruel  or  hopeless 
here;  all  is  implacably  just  and  entirely 
merciful.  Whatever  a  soul  needs,  that  it 
receives;  and  it  receives  nothing  that  is 
vindictive  or  harsh.  The  ideas  of  punish- 
ment on  earth  are  hopelessly  confused;  we 
do  not  know  whether  we  are  revenging  our- 
selves for  wrongs  done  to  us,  or  safeguard- 
ing society,  or  deterring  would-be  offenders, 
or  trying  to  amend  and  uplift  the  criminal. 
We  end,  as  a  rule,  by  making  every  one 
255 


256       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

concerned,  whether  punisher  or  punished, 
worse.  We  encourage  each  other  in  vin- 
dictiveness  and  hypocrisy,  we  cow  and 
brutalise  the  transgressor.  We  rescue  no 
one,  we  amend  nothing.  And  yet  we  can- 
not read  the  clear  signs  of  all  this.  The 
milder  our  methods  of  punishment  become, 
the  less  crime  is  there  to  punish.  But  in- 
stead of  being  at  once  kind  and  severe, 
which  is  perfectly  possible,  we  are  both 
cruel  and  sentimental.  Now,  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  sentiment  here,  just  as  there 
is  no  cruelty.  There  is  emotion  in  full 
measure,  and  severity  in  full  measure;  no 
one  is  either  pettishly  frightened  or  mildly 
forgiven;  and  the  joy  that  awaits  us  is  all 
the  more  worth  having,  because  it  cannot 
be  rashly  enjoyed  or  reached  by  any  short 
cuts;  but  do  not  forget,  in  what  you  now 
see,  that  the  end  is  joy." 

He  spoke  so  solemnly  that  I  was  con- 
scious of  overmastering  curiosity,  not  un- 
mixed with  awe.  Again  the  way  was 
abbreviated.     Amroth  took  me  by  the  hand 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       257 

and  bade  me  close  my  eyes.  The  breeze 
beat  upon  my  face  for  a  moment.  When 
I  opened  my  eyes,  we  were  on  a  bare  hill- 
side, full  of  stones,  in  a  kind  of  grey  and 
chilly  haze  which  filled  the  air.  Just  ahead 
of  us  were  some  rough  enclosures  of  stone, 
overlooked  by  a  sort  of  tower.  They  were 
like  the  big  sheepfolds  which  I  have  seen 
on  northern  wolds,  into  which  the  sheep  of 
a  whole  hillside  can  be  driven  for  shelter. 
We  went  round  the  wall,  which  was  high 
and  strong,  and  came  to  the  entrance  of 
the  tower,  the  door  of  which  stood  open. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  one  about,  no  sign 
of  life;  the  only  sound  a  curious  wailing 
note,  which  came  at  intervals  from  one  of 
the  enclosures,  like  the  crying  of  a  prisoned 
beast.  We  went  up  into  the  tower;  the 
staircase  ended  in  a  bare  room,  with  four 
apertures,  one  in  each  wall,  each  leading 
into  a  kind  of  balcony.  Amroth  led  the 
way  into  one  of  the  balconies,  and  pointed 
downwards.  We  were  looking  down  into 
one  of  the  enclosures  which  lay  just  at  our 


258       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

feet,  not  very  far  below.  The  place  was 
perfectly  bare,  and  roughly  flagged  with 
stones.  In  the  corner  was  a  rough  thatched 
shelter,  in  which  was  some  straw.  But 
what  at  once  riveted  my  attention  was  the 
figure  of  a  man,  who  half  lay,  half  crouched 
upon  the  stones,  his  head  in  his  hands,  in 
an  attitude  of  utter  abandonment.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  rough,  weather-worn  sort  of 
cloak,  and  his  w^hole  appearance  suggested 
the  basest  neglect;  his  hands  were  muscular 
and  knotted ;  his  ragged  grey  hair  streamed 
over  the  collar  of  his  cloak.  While  we 
looked  at  him,  he  drew  himself  up  into  a 
sitting  posture,  and  turned  his  face  blankly 
upon  the  sky.  It  was,  or  had  been,  a  noble 
face  enough,  deeply  lined,  and  with  a  look 
of  command  upon  it;  but  anything  like  the 
hopeless  and  utter  misery  of  the  drawn 
cheeks  and  staring  eyes  I  had  never  con- 
ceived. I  involuntarily  drew  back,  feeling 
that  it  was  almost  wrong  to  look  at  any- 
thing so  fallen  and  so  wretched.  But 
Amroth  detained  me. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       259 

"  He  is  not  aware  of  us,"  he  said,  "  and 
I  desire  you  to  look  at  him." 

Presently  the  man  rose  wearily  to  his 
feet,  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down  round 
the  walls,  with  the  mechanical  movements 
of  a  caged  animal,  avoiding  the  posts  of  the 
shelter  without  seeming  to  see  them,  and 
then  cast  himself  down  again  upon  the 
stones  in  a  paroxysm  of  melancholy.  He 
seemed  to  have  no  desire  to  escape,  no 
energy,  except  to  suffer.  There  was  no 
hope  about  it  all,  no  suggestion  of  prayer, 
nothing  but  blank  and  unadulterated 
suffering. 

Amroth  drew  me  back  into  the  tower, 
and  motioned  me  to  the  next  balcony. 
Again  I  went  out.  The  sight  that  I  saw 
was  almost  more  terrible  than  the  first, 
because  the  prisoner  here,  penned  in  a 
similar  enclosure,  was  more  restless,  and 
seemed  to  suffer  more  acutely.  This  was 
a  younger  man,  who  walked  swiftly  and 
vaguely  about,  casting  glances  up  at  the 
wall   which  enclosed  him.     Sometimes  he 


26o       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

stopped,  and  seemed  to  be  pursuing  some 
dreadful  train  of  solitary  thought;  he  ges- 
ticulated, and  even  broke  out  into  mutter- 
ings  and  cries — the  cries  that  I  had  heard 
from  without.  I  could  not  bear  to  look 
at  this  sight,  and  coming  back,  besought 
Amroth  to  lead  me  away.  Amroth,  who  was 
himself,  I  perceived,  deeply  moved,  and  stood 
with  lips  compressed,  nodded  in  token  of 
assent.  We  went  quickly  down  the  stairway, 
and  took  our  way  up  the  hill  among  the 
stones,  in  silence.  The  shapes  of  similar  en- 
closures were  to  be  seen  everywhere,  and 
the  indescribable  blankness  and  grimness  of 
the  scene  struck  a  chill  to  my  heart. 

From  the  top  of  the  ridge  we  could  see 
the  same  bare  valleys  stretching  in  all 
directions,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see.  The 
only  other  building  in  sight  was  a  great 
circular  tower  of  stone,  far  down  in  the 
valley,  from  which  beat  the  pulse  of  some 
heavy  machinery,  which  gave  the  sense,  I 
do  not  know  how,  of  a  ghastly  and  watchful 
life  at  the  centre  of  all. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       261 

"That  is  the  Tower  of  Pain/^  said  Am- 
roth,  "  and  I  will  spare  you  the  inner  sight 
of  that.  Only  our  very  bravest  and  strong- 
est can  enter  there  and  preserve  any  hope. 
But  it  is  well  for  you  to  know  it  is  there, 
and  that  souls  have  to  enter  it.  It  is 
thence  that  all  the  pain  of  countless  worlds 
emanates  and  vibrates,  and  the  governor  of 
the  place  is  the  most  tried  and  bravest  of 
all  the  servants  of  God.  Thither  we  must 
go,  for  you  shall  have  sight  of  him,  though 
you  shall  not  enter." 

We  went  down  the  hill  with  all  the  speed 
we  might,  and,  I  will  confess  it,  with  the 
darkest  dismay  I  have  ever  experienced 
tugging  at  my  heart.  We  were  soon  at  the 
foot  of  the  enormous  structure.  Amroth 
knocked  at  the  gate,  a  low  door,  adorned 
with  some  vague  and  ghastly  sculptures, 
things  like  worms  and  huddled  forms 
drearily  intertwined.  The  door  opened, 
and  revealed  a  fiery  and  smouldering  light 
within.  High  up  in  the  tower  a  great 
wheel  whizzed  and  shivered,   and  moving 


2^2       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

shadows  crossed  and  recrossed  the  firelit 
walls. 

But  the  figure  that  came  out  to  us — 
how  shall  I  describe  him?  It  was  the  most 
beautiful  and  gracious  sight  of  all  that  I 
saw^  in  my  pilgrimage.  He  was  a  man  of 
tall  stature,  with  snow-white,  silvery  hair 
and  beard,  dressed  in  a  dark  cloak  with  a 
gleaming  clasp  of  gold.  But  for  all  his  age 
he  had  a  look  of  immortal  youth.  His  clear 
and  piercing  eye  had  a  glance  of  infinite 
tenderness,  such  as  I  had  never  conceived. 
There  were  many  lines  upon  his  brow  and 
round  his  eyes,  but  his  complexion  was  as 
fresh  as  that  of  a  child,  and  he  stepped  as 
briskly  as  a  youth.  We  bowed  low  to  him, 
and  he  reached  out  his  hands,  taking  Am- 
roth's  hand  and  mine  in  each  of  his.  His 
touch  had  a  curious  thrill,  the  hand  that 
held  mine  being  firm  and  smooth  and  won- 
derfully warm. 

"  Well,  my  children,"  he  said  in  a  clear, 
youthful  voice,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  be- 
cause there  are  few  who  come  hither  will- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       263 

ingly;  and  the  old  and  weary  are  cheered 
by  the  sight  of  those  that  are  young  and 
strong.  Amroth  I  know.  But  who  are 
you,  my  child?  You  have  not  been  among 
us  long.  Have  you  found  your  work  and 
place  here  yet?  "  I  told  him  my  story  in 
a  few  words,  and  he  smiled  indulgently. 
"  There  is  nothing  like  being  at  work,-' 
he  said.  "  Even  my  business  here,  which 
seems  sad  enough  to  most  people,  must  be 
done;  and  I  do  it  very  willingly.  Do  not 
be  frightened,  my  child,"  he  said  to  me 
suddenly,  drawing  me  nearer  to  him,  and 
folding  my  arm  beneath  his  own.  "  It  is 
only  on  earth  that  we  are  frightened  of 
pain;  it  spoils  our  poor  plans,  it  makes  us 
fretful  and  miserable,  it  brings  us  into  the 
shadow  of  death.  But  for  all  that,  as  Am- 
roth knows,  it  is  the  best  and  most  fruitful 
of  all  the  works  that  the  Father  does  for 
man,  and  the  thing  dearest  to  His  heart. 
We  cannot  prosper  till  we  suffer,  and  suf- 
fering leads  us  very  swiftly  into  joy  and 
peace.     Indeed  this  Tower  of  Pain,  as  it  is 


264       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

called,  is  in  fact  nothing  but  the  Tower  of 
Love.  Not  until  love  is  touched  with  pain 
does  it  become  beautiful,  and  the  joy  that 
comes  through  pain  is  the  only  real  thing 
in  the  world.  Of  course,  when  my  great 
engine  here  sends  a  thrill  into  a  careless 
life,  it  comes  as  a  dark  surprise;  but  then 
follow  courage  and  patience  and  wonder, 
and  all  the  dear  tendance  of  Love.  I  have 
borne  it  all  myself  a  hundred  times,  and 
I  shall  bear  it  again  if  the  Father  wills  it. 
But  when  you  leave  me  here,  do  not  think 
of  me  as  of  one  who  works,  grim  and  in- 
different, wrecking  lives  and  destroying 
homes.  It  is  but  the  burning  of  the  weeds 
of  life;  and  it  is  as  needful  as  the  sunshine 
and  the  rain.  Pain  does  not  wander  aim- 
lessly, smiting  down  by  mischance  and  by 
accident;  it  comes  as  the  close  and  dear 
intention  of  the  Father's  heart,  and  is  to 
a  man  as  a  trumpet-call  from  the  land  of 
life,  not  as  a  knell  from  the  land  of  death. 
And  now,  dear  children,  you  must  leave  me, 
for  I  have  much  to  do.     And  I  will  give 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       265 

you,"  he  added,  turning  to  me,  "  a  gift  which 
shall  be  your  comfort,  and  a  token  that  you 
have  been  here,  and  seen  the  worst  and  the 
best  that  there  is  to  see." 

He  drew  from  under  his  cloak  a  ring,  a 
circlet  of  gold  holding  a  red  stone  with  a 
flaming  heart,  and  put  it  on  my  finger. 
There  pierced  through  me  a  pang  intenser 
than  any  I  had  ever  experienced,  in  which 
all  the  love  and  sorrow  I  had  ever  known 
seemed  to  be  suddenly  mingled,  and  which 
left  behind  it  a  perfect  and  intense  sense 
of  joy. 

"  There,  that  is  my  gift,"  he  said,  "  and 
you  shall  have  an  old  man's  loving  blessing 
too,  for  it  is  that,  after  all,  that  I  live  for." 
He  drew  me  to  him  and  kissed  me  on  the 
brow,  and  in  a  moment  he  was  gone. 

We  walked  away  in  silence,  and  for  my 
part  with  an  elation  of  spirit  which  I  could 
hardly  control,  a  desire  to  love  and  suffer, 
and  do  and  be  all  that  the  mind  of  man 
could  conceive.  But  my  heart  was  too  full 
to  speak. 


266       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

"  Come/'  said  Amroth  presently,  "  you 
are  not  as  grateful  as  I  had  lioped — ^you 
are  outgrowing  me!  Come  down  to  my 
poor  level  for  an  instant,  and  beware  of 
spiritual  pride ! "  Then  altering  his  tone 
he  said,  "  Ah,  yes,  dear  friend,  I  under- 
stand. There  is  nothing  in  the  world 
like  it,  and  you  w^ere  most  graciously  and 
tenderly  received — but  the  end  is  not 
yet." 

"  Amroth,''  I  said,  "  I  am  like  one  intoxi- 
cated with  joy.  I  feel  that  I  could  endure 
anything  and  never  make  question  of  any- 
thing again.  How  infinitely  good  he  was 
to  me — like  a  dear  father !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Amroth,  "  he  is  very  like  the 
Father  " — and  he  smiled  at  me  a  mysterious 
smile. 

"  Amroth,"  I  said,  bewildered,  "  you  can- 
not mean ?  " 

"  No,  I  mean  nothing,"  said  Amroth,  "  but 
you  have  to-day  looked  very  far  into  the 
truth,  farther  than  is  given  to  many  so 
soon;  but  you  are  a  child  of  fortune,  and 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       267 

seem  to  please  every  one.  I  declare  that 
a  little  more  would  make  me  jealous.'' 

Presently,  catching  sight  of  one  of  the 
enclosures  hard  by,  I  said  to  Amroth,  "  But 
there  are  some  questions  I  must  ask.  What 
has  just  happened  had  put  it  mostly  out 
of  my  head.  Those  poor  suffering  souls 
that  we  saw  just  now — it  is  well,  with  them, 
I  am  sure,  so  near  the  Master  of  the  Tower 
— he  does  not  forget  them,  I  am  sure — but 
who  are  they,  and  what  have  they  done  to 
suffer  so?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Amroth,  "  for  it 
is  a  dark  business.  Those  two  that  you 
have  seen — well,  you  will  know  one  of  them 
by  name  and  fame,  and  of  the  other  you 
may  have  heard.  The  first,  that  old  shaggy- 
haired  man,  who  lay  upon  the  stones,  that 
was " 

He  mentioned  a  name  that  was  notorious 
in  Europe  at  the  time  of  my  life  on  earth, 
though  he  was  then  long  dead;  a  ruthless 
and  ambitious  conqueror,  w^ho  poured  a 
cataract  of  life  away,  in  wars,  for  his  own 


268       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

aggrandisement.  Then  he  mentioned  an- 
other name,  a  statesman  who  pursued  a 
policy  of  terrorism  and  oppression,  enriched 
himself  by  barbarous  cruelty  exercised  in 
colonial  possessions,  and  was  famous  for 
the  calculated  libertinism  of  his  private 
life. 

"  They  were  great  sinners,"  said  Amroth, 
"  and  the  sorrows  they  made  and  flung  so 
carelessly  about  them,  beat  back  upon  them 
now  in  a  surge  of  pain.  These  men  were 
strangely  affected,  each  of  them,  by  the 
smallest  sight  or  sound  of  suffering — a  tor- 
tured animal,  a  crying  child;  and  yet  they 
were  utterly  ruthless  of  the  pain  that  they 
did  not  see.  It  was  a  lack,  no  doubt,  of 
the  imagination  of  which  I  spoke,  and  which 
makes  all  the  difference.  And  now  they 
have  to  contemplate  the  pain  which  they 
could  not  imagine;  and  they  have  to  learn 
submission  and  humility.  It  is  a  terrible 
business  in  a  way — the  loneliness  of  it! 
There  used  to  be  an  old  saying  that  the 
strongest  man  was  the  man  that  was  most 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       269 

alone.  But  it  was  just  because  these  men 
practised  loneliness  on  earth  that  they  have 
to  sufPer  so.  They  used  others  as  counters 
in  a  game,  they  had  neither  friend  nor  be- 
loved, except  for  their  own  pleasure.  They 
depended  upon  no  one,  needed  no  one,  de- 
sired no  one.  But  there  are  many  others 
here  who  did  the  same  on  a  small  scale — 
selfish  fathers  and  mothers  who  made  homes 
miserable;  boys  who  were  bullies  at  school 
and  tyrants  in  the  world,  in  offices,  and 
places  of  authority.  This  is  the  place  of 
discipline  for  all  base  selfishness  and  vile 
authority,  for  all  who  have  oppressed  and 
victimised  mankind." 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  here  is  my  difficulty.  I 
understand  the  case  of  the  oppressors  well 
enough;  but  about  the  oppressed,  what  is 
the  justice  of  that?  Is  there  not  a  fortui- 
tous element  there,  an  interruption  of  the 
Divine  plan?  Take  the  case  of  the  thou- 
sands of  lives  wasted  by  some  brutal  con- 
queror. Are  souls  sent  into  the  world  for 
that,  to  be  driven  in  gangs,  made  to  fight. 


270       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

let  us  say,  for  some  abominable  cause,  and 
then  recklessly  dismissed  from  life?  " 

"  Ah,"  said  Amroth,  "  you  make  too  much 
of  the  dignity  of  life!  You  do  not  know 
how  small  a  thing  a  single  life  is,  not  as 
regards  the  life  of  mankind,  but  in  the  life 
of  one  individual.  Of  course  if  a  man  had 
but  one  single  life  on  earth,  it  would  be  an 
intolerable  injustice;  and  that  is  the  factor 
which  sets  all  straight,  the  factor  which 
most  of  us,  in  our  time  of  bodily  self-im- 
portance, overlook.  These  oppressors  have 
no  power  over  other  lives  except  what  God 
allows,  and  bewildered  humanity  concedes. 
Not  only  is  the  great  plan  whole  in  the 
mind  of  God,  but  every  single  minutest  life 
is  considered  as  well.  In  the  very  case  you 
spoke  of,  the  little  conscript,  torn  from  his 
home  to  fight  a  tyrant's  battles,  hectored 
and  ill-treated,  and  then  shot  down  upon 
some  crowded  battle-field,  that  is  precisely 
the  discipline  which  at  that  point  of  time 
his  soul  needs,  and  the  blessedness  of  which 
he    afterwards    perceives;    sometimes    dis- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       271 

cipline  is  swift  and  urgent,  sometimes  it 
is  slow  and  lingering:  but  all  experience 
is  exactly  apportioned  to  the  quality  of 
which  each  soul  is  in  need.  The  only  rea- 
son why  there  seems  to  be  an  element  of 
chance  in  it,  is  that  the  whole  thing  is  so 
inconceivably  vast  and  prolonged;  and  our 
happiness  and  our  progress  alike  depend 
upon  our  realising  at  every  moment  that 
the  smallest  joy  and  the  most  trifling  plea- 
sure, as  well  as  the  tiniest  ailment  or  the 
most  subtle  sorrow,  are  just  the  pieces  of 
experience  which  we  are  meant  at  that 
moment  to  use  and  make  our  own.  No 
one,  not  even  God,  can  force  us  to  under- 
stand this;  we  have  to  perceive  it  for 
ourselves,  and  to  live  in  th'  knowledge  of 
it." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  it  is  true,  all  that.  My 
heart  tells  me  so;  but  it  is  very  wonderful 
and  mysterious,  all  the  same.  But,  Am- 
roth,  I  have  seen  and  heard  enough.  My 
spirit  desires  with  all  its  might  to  be  at 
its  OT^n  work,  hastening  on  the  mighty  end. 


272       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

Now,  I  can  hold  no  more  of  wonders.  Let 
me  return." 

"  Yes,"  said  Amroth,  "  you  are  right  I 
These  wonders  are  so  familiar  to  me  that 
I  forget,  perhaps,  the  shock  with  which  they 
come  to  minds  unused  to  them.  Yet  there 
are  other  things  which  you  must  assuredly 
see,  when  the  time  comes;  but  I  must  not 
let  you  bite  off  a  larger  piece  than  you 
can  swallow." 

He  took  me  by  the  hand;  the  breeze 
passed  through  my  hair;  and  in  an  instant 
we  were  back  at  the  fortress-gate,  and  I 
entered  the  beloved  shelter,  with  a  grateful 
sense  that  I  was  returning  home. 


XXV 

I  RETURNED,  as  I  Said,  with  a  sense  of 
serene  pleasure  and  security  to  my  work; 
but  that  serenity  did  not  last  long.  What 
I  had  seen  with  Amroth,  on  that  day  of 
wandering,  filled  me  with  a  strange  rest- 
lessness, and  a  yearning  for  I  knew  not 
what.  I  plunged  into  my  studies  with  de- 
termination rather  than  ardour,  and  I  set 
myself  to  study  what  is  the  most  difficult 
problem  of  all — the  exact  limits  of  indi- 
vidual responsibility.  I  had  many  conver- 
sations on  the  point  with  one  of  my 
teachers,  a  young  man  of  very  wide  experi- 
ence, who  combined  in  an  unusual  way  a 
close  scientific  knowledge  of  the  subject 
with  a  peculiar  emotional  sympathy.  He 
told  me  once  that  it  was  the  best  outfit  for 
the  scientific  study  of  these  problems,  when 
the  heart  anticipated  the  slower  judgment 
i8  273 


274       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

of  the  mind,  and  set  the  mind  a  goal,  so  to 
speak,  to  work  up  to ;  though  he  warned  me 
that  the  danger  was  that  the  mind  was 
often  reluctant  to  abandon  the  more  indul- 
gent claims  of  the  heart;  and  he  advised 
me  to  mistrust  alike  scientific  conclusions 
and  emotional  inferences. 

I  had  a  very  memorable  conversation 
with  him  on  the  particular  question  of  re- 
sponsibility, which  I  will  here  give. 

"  The  mistake,"  I  said  to  him,  "  of  hu- 
man moralists  seems  to  me  to  be,  that  they 
treat  all  men  as  more  or  less  equal  in  the 
matter  of  moral  responsibility.  How  often,'' 
I  added,  "  have  I  heard  a  school  preacher 
tell  boys  that  they  could  not  all  be  athletic 
or  clever  or  popular,  but  that  high  principle 
and  moral  courage  were  things  within  the 
reach  of  all.  Whereas  the  more  that  I 
studied  human  nature,  the  more  did  the 
power  of  surveying  and  judging  one's  own 
moral  progress,  and  the  power  of  enforc- 
ing and  executing  the  dictates  of  the  con- 
science,  seem  to  me  faculties,   like  other 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       275 

faculties.  Indeed^  it  appears  to  me,"  I  said, 
"  that  on  the  one  hand  there  are  people 
who  have  a  power  of  moral  discrimination, 
when  dealing  with  the  retrospect  of  their 
actions,  but  no  power  of  obeying  the  claims 
of  principle,  when  confronted  with  a  situa- 
tion involving  moral  strain;  while  on  the 
other  hand  there  seem  to  me  to  be  some  few 
men  with  a  great  and  resolute  power  of 
will,  capable  of  swift  decision  and  firm 
action,  but  without  any  instinct  for  moral- 
ity at  all." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  you  are  quite  right. 
The  moral  sense  is  in  reality  a  high  artistic 
sense.  It  is  a  power  of  discerning  and  be- 
ing attracted  by  the  beauty  of  moral  action, 
just  as  the  artist  is  attracted  by  form  and 
colour,  and  the  musician  by  delicate  com- 
binations of  harmonies  and  the  exquisite 
balance  of  sound.  You  know,"  he  said, 
"  what  a  suspension  is  in  music — it  is  a 
chord  which  in  itself  is  a  discord,  but  which 
depends  for  its  beauty  on  some  impending 
resolution.     It  is  just  so  with  moral  choice. 


276       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

The  imagination  plays  a  great  part  in  it. 
The  man  whose  morality  is  high  and  pro- 
found sees  instinctively  the  approaching 
contingency,  and  his  act  of  self-denial  or 
self-forgetfulness  depends  for  its  force  upon 
the  way  in  which  it  will  ultimately  combine 
with  other  issues  involved,  even  though  at 
the  moment  that  act  may  seem  to  be  un- 
necessary and  even  perverse." 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  there  are  a  good  many 
people  who  attain  to  a  sensible,  well-bal- 
anced kind  of  temperance,  after  perhaps  a 
few  failures,  from  a  purely  prudential 
motive.     What  is  the  worth  of  that?  " 

"  Very  small  indeed,"  said  my  teacher. 
"  In  fact,  the  prudential  morality,  based  on 
motives  of  health  and  reputation  and  suc- 
cess, is  a  thing  that  has  often  to  be  delib- 
erately unlearnt  at  a  later  stage.  The 
strange  catastrophes  which  one  sees  so  often 
in  human  life,  where  a  man  by  one  act  of 
rashness,  or  moral  folly,  upsets  the  tran- 
quil tenor  of  liis  life — a  desperate  love- 
affair,  a  passion  of  unreasonable  anger,  a 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       277 

piece  of  quixotic  generosity — are  often  a 
symptom  of  a  great  effort  of  the  soul  to 
free  itself  from  prudential  considerations. 
A  good  thing  done  for  a  low  motive  has 
often  a  singularly  degrading  and  deforming 
influence  on  the  soul.  One  has  to  remem- 
ber how  terribly  the  heavenly  values  are 
obscured  upon  earth  by  the  body,  its  needs 
and  its  desires;  and  current  morality  of  a 
cautious  and  sensible  kind  is  often  worse 
than  worthless,  because  it  produces  a  kind 
of  self-satisfaction,  which  is  the  hardest 
thing  to  overcome.'' 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  in  the  lives  of  some  of 
the  greatest  moralists,  one  so  often  sees, 
or  at  all  events  hears  it  said,  that  their 
morality  is  useless  because  it  is  unprac- 
tical, too  much  out  of  the  reach  of  the 
ordinary  man,  too  contemptuous  of  simple 
human  faculties.  What  is  one  to  make  of 
that?  " 

"  It  is  a  difficult  matter,"  he  replied ; 
"  one  does  indeed,  in  the  lives  of  great 
moralists,  see  sometimes  that  their  work 


278       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

is  vitiated  by  perverse  and  fantastic  prefer- 
ences, which  they  exalt  out  of  all  proportion 
to  their  real  value.  But  for  all  that,  it  is 
better  to  be  on  the  side  of  the  saints;  for 
they  are  gifted  with  the  sort  of  instinctive 
appreciation  of  the  beauty  of  high  morality 
of  which  I  spoke.  Unselfishness,  purity, 
peacefulness  seem  to  them  so  beautiful  and 
desirable  that  they  are  constrained  to  prac- 
tise them.  While  controversy,  bitterness, 
cruelty,  meanness,  vice,  seem  so  utterly 
ugly  and  repulsive  that  they  cannot  for  an 
instant  entertain  even  so  much  as  a  thought 
of  them.'* 

"  But  if  a  man  sees  that  he  is  wanting  in 
this  kind  of  perception,"  I  said,  "  what  can 
he  do?  How  is  he  to  learn  to  love  what 
he  does  not  admire  and  to  abhor  what  he 
does  not  hate?  It  all  seems  so  fatalistic, 
so  irresistible." 

"  If  he  discerns  his  lack,"  said  my  teacher 
with  a  smile,  "  he  is  probably  not  so  very 
far  from  the  truth.  The  germ  of  the  sense 
of  moral  beauty  is  there,  and  it  only  wants 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       279 

patience  and  endeavour  to  make  it  grow. 
But  it  cannot  be  all  done  in  any  single  life, 
of  course;  that  is  where  the  human  faith 
fails,  in  its  limitations  of  a  man's  possibil- 
ities to  a  single  life." 

"  But  what  is  the  reason,"  I  said,  "  why 
the  morality,  the  high  austerity  of  some 
persons,  who  are  indubitably  high-minded 
and  pure-hearted,  is  so  utterly  discourag- 
ing and  even  repellent?  " 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  there  you  touch  on  a 
great  truth.  The  reason  of  that  is  that 
these  have  but  a  sterile  sort  of  connoisseur- 
ship  in  virtue.  Virtue  cannot  be  attained 
in  solitude,  nor  can  it  be  made  a  matter 
of  private  enjoyment.  The  point  is,  of 
course,  that  it  is  not  enough  for  a  man  to 
be  himself;  he  must  also  give  himself;  and 
if  a  man  is  moral  because  of  the  delicate 
pleasure  it  brings  him — and  the  artistic 
pleasure  of  asceticism  is  a  very  high  one 
— he  is  apt  to  find  himself  here  in  very 
strange  and  distasteful  company.  In  this, 
as  in  everything,  the  only  safe  motive  is 


280       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

the  motive  of  love.  The  man  who  takes 
pleasure  in  using  influence,  or  setting  a 
lofty  example,  is  just  as  arid  a  dilettante 
as  the  musician  who  plays,  or  the  artist 
who  paints,  for  the  sake  of  the  applause  and 
the  admiration  he  wins;  he  is  only  regard- 
ing others  as  so  many  instruments  for 
registering  his  own  level  of  complacency. 
Every  one,  even  the  least  complicated  of 
mankind,  must  know  the  exquisite  pleasure 
that  comes  from  doing  the  simplest  and 
humblest  service  to  one  whom  he  loves; 
how  such  love  converts  the  most  menial 
office  into  a  luxurious  joy;  and  the  higher 
that  a  man  goes,  the  more  does  he  discern 
in  every  single  human  being  with  whom  he 
is  brought  into  contact  a  soul  whom  he 
can  love  and  serve.  Of  course  it  is  but  an 
elementary  pleasure  to  enjoy  pleasing  those 
whom  we  regard  with  some  passion  of 
affection,  wife  or  child  or  friend,  because, 
after  all,  one  gains  something  oneself  by 
that.  But  the  purest  morality  of  all  dis- 
cerns the  infinitely  lovable  quality  which 


The  Child  of  the  Dawri       281 

is  in  the  depth  of  every  human  soul,  and 
lavishes  its  tenderness  and  its  grace  upon 
it,  with  a  compassion  that  grows  and  in- 
creases, the  more  unthankful  and  clumsy 
and  brutish  is  the  soul  which  it  sets  out 
to  serve.-' 

"  But,''  I  said,  "  beautiful  as  that  thought 
is — and  I  see  and  recognise  its  beauty — it 
does  limit  the  individual  responsibility  very 
greatly.  Surely  a  prudential  morality,  the 
morality  which  is  just  because  it  fears 
reprisal,  and  is  kind  because  it  anticipates 
kindness,  is  better  than  none  at  all?  The 
morality  of  which  you  speak  can  only  be- 
long to  the  noblest  human  creatures." 

"  Only  to  the  noblest,"  he  said ;  "  and  I 
must  repeat  what  I  said  before,  that  the 
prudential  morality  is  useless,  because  it 
begins  at  the  wrong  end,  and  is  set  upon 
self  throughout.  I  must  say  deliberately 
that  the  soul  which  loves  unreasonably  and 
unwisely,  which  even  yields  itself  to  the 
passion  of  others  for  the  pleasure  it  gives 
rather  than  for  the  pleasure  it  receives — 


282       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

the  thriftless,  lavish,  good-natured,  affec- 
tionate people,  who  are  said  to  make  such 
a  mess  of  their  lives — are  far  higher  in  the 
scale  of  hope  than  the  cautiously  respect- 
able, the  prudently  kind,  the  selfishly  pure. 
Tliere  must  be  no  mistake  about  this.  One 
must  somehow  or  other  give  one's  heart 
away,  and  it  is  better  to  do  it  in  error  and 
disaster  than  to  treasure  it  for  oneself.  Of 
course  there  are  many  lives  on  earth — and 
an  increasing  number  as  the  world  develops 
— which  are  generous  and  noble  and  un- 
selfish, without  any  sacrifice  of  purity  or 
self-respect.  But  the  essence  of  morality 
is  giving,  and  not  receiving,  or  even  prac- 
tising; the  point  is  free  choice,  and  not 
compulsion ;  and  if  one  cannot  give  because 
one  loves,  one  must  give  until  one  loves.'' 


XXVI 

But  all  my  speculations  were  cut  short  by 
a  strange  event  which  happened  about  this 
time.  One  day,  without  any  warning,  the 
thought  of  Cynthia  darted  urgently  and  ir- 
resistibly into  my  mind.  Her  image  came 
between  me  and  all  my  tasks;  I  saw  her  in 
innumerable  positions  and  guises,  but  al- 
ways with  her  eyes  bent  on  me  in  a  pitiful 
entreaty.  After  endeavouring  to  resist  the 
thought  for  a  little  as  some  kind  of  fantasy, 
I  became  suddenly  convinced  that  she  was 
in  need  of  me,  and  in  urgent  need.  I  asked 
for  an  interview  with  our  Master,  and  told 
him  the  story;  he  heard  me  gravely,  and  then 
said  that  I  might  go  in  search  of  her;  but 
I  was  not  sure  that  he  was  wholly  pleased, 
and  he  bent  his  eyes  upon  me  with  a  very 
inquiring  look.  I  hesitated  whether  or  not 
to  call  Amroth  to  my  aid,  but  decided  that 
283 


284       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

I  had  better  not  do  so  at  first.  The  ques- 
tion was  how  to  find  her;  the  great  crags 
lay  between  me  and  the  land  of  deliglit; 
and  when  I  hurried  out  of  the  college,  tlie 
thought  of  the  descent  and  its  dangers 
fairly  unmanned  me.  I  knew,  however,  of 
no  other  way.  But  what  was  my  surprise 
when,  on  arriving  at  the  top,  not  far  from 
the  point  where  Amroth  had  greeted  me 
after  the  ascent,  I  saw  a  little  steep  path, 
which  wound  itself  down  into  the  gulleys 
and  chimneys  of  the  black  rocks.  I  took  it 
without  hesitation,  and  though  again  and 
again  it  seemed  to  come  to  an  end  in  front 
of  me,  I  found  that  it  could  be  traced  and 
followed  without  serious  difficulty.  The 
descent  was  accomplished  with  a  singular 
rapidity,  and  I  marvelled  to  find  myself  at 
the  crag-base  in  so  brief  a  time,  considering 
the  intolerable  tedium  of  the  ascent.  I 
rapidly  crossed  the  intervening  valley,  and 
was  very  soon  at  the  gate  of  the  careless 
land.  To  my  intense  joy,  and  not  at  all 
to  my  surprise,  I  found  Cynthia  at  the  gate 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       285 

itself,  waiting  for  me  with  a  look  of  expect- 
ancy. She  came  forwards,  and  threw  her- 
self passionately  into  my  arms,  murmuring 
w^ords  of  delight  and  welcome,  like  a  child. 

"  I  knew^  you  would  come,"  she  said.  "  I 
am  frightened — all  sorts  of  dreadful  things 
have  happened.  I  have  found  out  where 
I  am — and  I  seem  to  have  lost  all  my 
friends.  Charmides  is  gone,  and  Lucius  is 
cruel  to  me — he  tells  me  that  I  have  lost 
my  spirits  and  my  good  looks,  and  am  tire- 
some company." 

I  looked  at  her — she  was  paler  and 
frailer-looking  than  when  I  left  her;  and 
she  was  habited  very  differently,  in  simpler 
and  graver  dress.  But  she  was  to  my  eyes 
infinitely  more  beautiful  and  dearer,  and 
I  told  her  so.  She  smiled  at  that,  but  half 
tearfully;  and  we  seated  ourselves  on  a 
bench  hard  by,  looking  over  the  garden, 
which  was  strangely  and  luxuriantly 
beautiful. 

"  You  must  take  me  away  with  you  at 
once,"  she  said.    "  I  cannot  live  here  without 


286       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

you.  I  thought  at  first,  when  you  went,  that  it 
was  rather  a  relief  not  to  have  your  grave 
face  at  my  shoulder," — here  she  took  my 
face  in  her  hands — "  always  reminding  me 
of  something  I  did  not  want,  and  ought  to 
have  wanted — but  oh,  how  I  began  to  miss 
you!  and  then  I  got  so  tired  of  this  silly, 
lazy  place,  and  all  the  music  and  jokes  and 
compliments.  But  I  am  a  worthless  crea- 
ture, and  not  good  for  anything.  I  cannot 
work,  and  I  hate  being  idle.  Take  me  any- 
where, make  me  do  something,  beat  me  if 
you  like,  only  force  me  to  be  different  from 
what  I  am." 

"  Very  well,"  I  said.  "  I  will  give  you 
a  good  beating  presently,  of  course,  but  just 
let  me  consider  what  will  hurt  you  most, 
silly  child ! " 

"  That  is  it,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  be 
hurt  and  bruised,  and  shaken  as  my  nurse 
used  to  shake  me,  when  I  was  a  naughty 
child.  Oh  dear,  oh  dear,  how  wretched  I 
am ! "  and  poor  Cynthia  laid  her  head  on 
my  shoulder  and  burst  into  tears. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       287 

"  Come,  come,"  I  said,  "  you  must  not  do 
that — I  want  my  wits  about  me ;  but  if  you 
cry,  you  will  simply  make  a  fool  of  me — 
and  this  is  no  time  for  love-making." 

"  Then  you  do  really  care,''  said  Cynthia 
in  a  quieter  tone.  "  That  is  all  I  want  to 
know!  I  want  to  be  with  you,  and  see 
you  every  hour  and  every  minute.  I  can't 
help  saying  it,  though  it  is  really  very  un- 
dignified for  me  to  be  making  love  to  you. 
I  did  many  silly  things  on  earth,  but  never 
anything  quite  so  feeble  as  that!" 

I  felt  myself  fairly  bewildered  by  the 
situation.  My  psychology  did  not  seem  to 
help  me;  and  here  at  least  was  something 
to  love  and  rescue.  I  will  say  frankly  that, 
in  my  stupidity  and  superiority,  1  did  not 
really  think  of  loving  Cynthia  in  the  way 
in  which  she  needed  to  be  loved.  She  was 
to  me,  with  all  my  grave  concerns  and  pro- 
blems, as  a  charming  and  intelligent  child, 
with  whom  I  could  not  even  speak  of  half 
the  thoughts  which  absorbed  me.  So  I  just 
held  her  in  my  arms,  and  comforted  her  as 


288       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

best  I  could;  but  what  to  do  and  where  to 
bestow^  her  I  could  not  tell.  I  saw  that 
her  time  to  leave  the  place  of  desire  had 
come,  but  what  she  could  turn  to  I  could 
not  conceive. 

Suddenly  I  looked  up,  and  saw  Lucius 
approaching,  evidently  in  a  very  angry 
mood. 

"  So  this  is  the  end  of  all  our  amuse- 
ment? "  he  said,  as  he  came  near.  "  You 
bring  Cynthia  here  in  your  tiresome,  con- 
descending way,  you  live  among  us  like  an 
almighty  prig,  smiling  gravely  at  our  fun, 
and  then  you  go  off  when  it  is  convenient 
to  yourself;  and  then,  when  you  want  a 
little  recreation,  you  come  and  sit  here  in 
a  corner  and  hug  your  darling,  when  you 
have  never  given  her  a  thought  of  late.  You 
know  that  is  true,''  he  added  menacingly. 

"  Yes,'^  I  said,  "  it  is  true !  I  went  of 
my  own  will,  and  I  have  come  back  of 
my  own  will;  and  you  have  all  been  out 
of  my  thoughts,  because  I  have  had  much 
work  to  do.     But  what  of  that?    Cynthia 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       289 

wants  me  and  I  have  come  back  to  her, 
and  I  will  do  whatever  she  desires.  It  is 
no  good  threatening  me,  Lucius — there  is 
nothing  you  can  do  or  say  that  will  have 
the  smallest  effect  on  me.'' 

"We  will  see  about  that,"  said  Lucius. 
"  None  of  your  airs  here !  We  are  peace- 
ful enough  when  we  are  respectfully  and 
fairly  treated,  but  we  have  our  own  laws, 
and  no  one  shall  break  them  with  impunity. 
We  will  have  no  half-hearted  fools  here. 
If  you  come  among  us  with  your  damned 
missionary  airs,  you  shall  have  what  I  ex- 
pect you  call  the  crown  of  martyrdom." 

He  whistled  loud  and  shrill.  Half-a-^ 
dozen  men  sprang  from  the  bushes  and 
flung  themselves  upon  me.  I  struggled,  but 
was  overpowered,  and  dragged  away.  The 
last  sight  I  had  was  of  Lucius  standing 
with  a  disdainful  smile,  with  Cynthia  cling- 
ing to  his  arm ;  and  to  my  horror  and  disgust 

she  was  smiling  too. 

19 


XXVII 

I  HAD  somehow  never  expected  to  be  used 
with  positive  violence  in  the  world  of 
spirits,  and  least  of  all  in  that  lazy  and 
good-natured  place.  Considering,  too,  the 
errand  on  which  I  had  come,  not  for  my 
own  convenience  but  for  the  sake  of  an- 
other, my  treatment  seemed  to  me  very 
hard.  What  was  still  more  humiliating 
was  the  fact  that  my  spirit  seemed  just  as 
powerless  in  the  hands  of  these  ruffians  as 
my  body  would  have  been  on  earth.  I  was 
pushed,  hustled,  insulted,  hurt.  I  could 
have  summoned  Amroth  to  my  aid,  but  I 
felt  too  proud  for  that;  yet  the  thought  of 
the  crag-men,  and  the  possibility  of  the 
second  death,  did  visit  my  mind  with  dis- 
mal iteration.  I  did  not  at  all  desire  a 
further  death;  I  felt  very  much  alive,  and 
290 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       291 

full  of  interest  and  energy.  Worst  of  all 
was  my  sense  that  Cynthia  had  gone  over 
to  the  enemy.  I  had  been  so  loftily  kind 
with  her,  that  I  much  resented  having  ap- 
peared in  her  sight  as  feeble  and  ridiculous. 
It  is  difficult  to  preserve  any  dignity  of 
demeanour  or  thought,  with  a  man's  hand 
at  one's  neck  and  his  knee  in  one's  back: 
and  I  felt  that  Lucius  had  displayed  a 
really  Satanical  malignity  in  using  this 
particular  means  of  degrading  me  in  Cyn- 
thia's sight,  and  of  regaining  his  own  lost 
influence. 

I  was  thrust  and  driven  before  my  cap- 
tors along  an  alley  in  the  garden,  and  what 
added  to  my  discomfiture  was  that  a  good 
many  people  ran  together  to  see  us  pass, 
and  watched  me  with  decided  amusement.  T 
Avas  taken  finally  to  a  little  pavilion  of  stone, 
with  heavily  barred  windows,  and  a  flagged 
marble  floor.  The  room  was  absolutely 
bare,  and  contained  neither  seat  nor  table. 
Into  this  I  was  thrust,  with  some  obscene 
jesting,  and  the  door  was  locked  upon  me. 


292       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

Tlie  time  passed  very  heavily.     At  inter- 
vals I  heard  music  burst  out  among  the 
alleys,  and  a  good  many  people  came  to 
peep  in  upon  me  with  an  amused  curiosity. 
I  was  entirely  bewildered  by  my  position, 
and  did  not  see  what  I  could  have  done 
to  have  incurred  my  punishment.     But  in 
the  solitary  hours  that  followed  I  began 
to  have  a  suspicion  of  my  fault.     I  had 
found  myself  hitherto  the  object  of  so  much 
attention  and  praise,  that  I  had  developed 
a  strong  sense  of  complacency  and  self- 
satisfaction.     I  had  an  uncomfortable  sus- 
picion that  there  was  even  more  behind, 
but  I  could  not,  by  interrogating  my  mind 
and  searching  out  my   spirits,   make  out 
clearly   what   it   was;   yet    I    felt    I   was 
having  a  sharp  lesson;  and  this  made  me 
resolve  that  I  would  ask  for  no  kind  of 
assistance  from  Amroth  or  any  other  power, 
but  that  I  would  try  to  meet  whatever  fell 
upon  me  with  patience,  and  extract  the  full 
savour  of  my  experience. 
I  do  not  know  how  long  I  spent  in  the 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       293 

dismal  cell.  I  was  in  some  discomfort  from 
the  handling  I  had  received,  and  in  still 
greater  dejection  of  mind.  Suddenly  I 
heard  footsteps  approaching.  Three  of  my 
captors  appeared,  and  told  me  roughly  to 
go  with  them.  So,  a  pitiable  figure,  I 
limped  along  between  two  of  them,  the 
third  following  behind,  and  was  conducted 
through  the  central  piazza  of  the  place,  be- 
tween two  lines  of  people  who  gave  way 
to  the  most  undisguised  merriment,  and 
even  shouted  opprobrious  remarks  at  me, 
calling  me  spy  and  traitor  and  other  un- 
pleasant names.  I  could  not  have  believed 
that  these  kind-mannered  and  courteous 
persons  could  have  exhibited,  all  of  a  sud- 
den, such  frank  brutality,  and  I  saw  many 
of  my  own  acquaintance  among  them,  who 
regarded  me  with  obvious  derision. 

I  was  taken  into  a  big  hall,  in  which 
I  had  often  sat  to  hear  a  concert  of  music. 
On  the  dais  at  the  upper  end  were  seated 
a  number  of  dignified  persons,  in  a  semi- 
circle, with  a  very  handsome  and  stately 


294       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

old  man  in  the  centre  on  a  chair  of  state, 
whose  face  was  new  to  me.  Before  this 
Court  I  was  formally  arraigned;  I  had  to 
stand  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  in 
an  open  space.  Two  of  my  captors  stood 
on  each  side  of  me;  while  the  rest  of  the 
court  was  densely  packed  with  people,  who 
greeted  me  with  obvious  hostility. 

When  silence  was  procured,  the  Presi- 
dent said  to  me,  with  a  show  of  great 
courtesy,  that  he  could  not  disguise  from 
himself  that  the  charge  against  me  was  a 
serious  one;  but  that  justice  would  be  done 
to  me,  fully  and  carefully.  I  should  have 
ample  opportunity  to  excuse  myself.  He 
then  called  upon  one  of  those  who  sat  with 
him  to  state  the  case  briefly,  and  call  wit- 
nesses; and  after  that  he  promised  I  might 
speak  for  myself. 

A  man  rose  from  one  of  the  seats,  and, 
pleading  somewhat  rhetorically,  said  that 
the  object  of  the  great  community,  to  which 
so  many  were  proud  to  belong,  was  to  se- 
cure to  all  the  utmost  amount  of  innocent 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       295 

enjoyment,  and  the  most  entire  peace  of 
mind;  that  no  pressure  was  put  upon  any 
one  who  decided  to  stay  there,  and  to  ob- 
serve the  quiet  customs  of  the  place;  but 
that  it  was  always  considered  a  heinous 
and  ill-disposed  thing  to  attempt  to  unsettle 
any  one's  convictions,  or  to  attempt,  by 
using  undue  influence,  to  bring  about  the 
migration  of  any  citizen  to  conditions  of 
which  little  was  known,  but  which  there 
was  reason  to  believe  were  distinctly  un- 
desirable. 

"  We  are,  above  all,"  he  said,  "  a  religious 
community;  our  rites  and  our  ceremonies 
are  privileges  open  to  all;  we  compel  no 
one  to  attend  them;  all  that  we  insist  is 
that  no  one,  by  restless  innovation  or 
cynical  contempt,  should  attempt  to  dis- 
turb the  emotions  of  serene  contemplation, 
distinguished  courtesy,  and  artistic  feeling, 
for  which  our  society  has  been  so  long  and 
justly  celebrated.'' 

This  was  received  with  loud  applause,  in- 
dulgently checked  by  the  President.    Some 


296       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

witnesses  were  then  called,  who  testified  to 
the  indifference  and  restlessness  which  I 
had  on  many  occasions  manifested.  It  was 
brought  up  against  me  that  I  had  provoked 
a  much-respected  member  of  the  community, 
Charmides,  to  utter  some  very  treasonous 
and  unpleasant  language,  and  that  it  was 
believed  that  the  rash  and  unhappy  step, 
which  he  had  lately  taken,  of  leaving  the 
place,  had  been  entirely  or  mainly  the 
result  of  my  discontented  and  ill-advised 
suggestion. 

Then  Lucius  himself,  wearing  an  air  of 
extreme  gravity  and  even  despondency,  was 
called,  and  a  murmur  of  sympathy  ran 
through  the  audience.  Lucius,  apparently 
struggling  with  deep  emotion,  said  that  he 
bore  me  no  actual  ill-will;  that  on  my  first 
arrival  he  had  done  his  best  to  welcome 
me  and  make  me  feel  at  home;  that  it  was 
probably  known  to  all  that  I  had  been  ac- 
companied by  an  accomplished  and  justly 
popular  lady,  whom  I  had  openly  treated 
with  scanty  civility  and  undisguised  con- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       297 

tempt.  That  he  had  himself,  under  the  laws 
of  the  place,  contracted  a  close  alliance  with 
my  unhappy  protegee,  and  that  their  union 
had  been  duly  accredited;  but  that  I  had 
lost  no  opportunity  of  attempting  to  under- 
mine his  happiness,  and  to  maintain  an  un- 
wholesome influence  over  her.  That  I  had 
at  last  left  the  place  myself,  with  a  most 
uncivil  abruptness;  during  the  interval  of 
absence  my  occupations  were  believed  to 
have  been  of  the  most  dubious  character: 
it  was  more  than  suspected,  indeed,  that  I 
had  penetrated  to  places,  the  very  name  of 
which  could  hardly  be  mentioned  without 
shame  and  consternation.  That  my  asso- 
ciates had  been  persons  of  the  vilest  char- 
acter and  the  most  brutal  antecedents ;  and 
at  last,  feeling  in  need  of  distraction,  I  had 
again  returned  with  the  deliberate  intention 
of  seducing  his  unhappy  partner  into  ac- 
companying me  to  one  or  other  of  the 
abandoned  places  I  had  visited.  He  added 
that  Cynthia  had  been  so  much  overcome 
by  her  emotion,  and  her  natural  compas- 


298       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

sion  for  an  old  acquaintance,  that  he  had 
persuaded  her  not  to  subject  herself  to  the 
painful  strain  of  an  appearance  in  public; 
but  that  for  this  action  he  threw  himself 
upon  the  mercy  of  the  Court,  who  would 
know  that  it  was  only  dictated  by  chival- 
rous motives. 

At  this  there  was  subdued  applause,  and 
Lucius,  after  adding  a  few  broken  words 
to  the  effect  that  he  lived  only  for  the  main- 
tenance of  order,  peace,  and  happiness,  and 
that  he  was  devoted  heart  and  soul  to  the 
best  interests  of  the  community,  completely 
broke  down,  and  was  assisted  from  his  place 
by  friends. 

The  whole  thing  was  so  malignant  and 
ingenious  a  travesty  of  what  had  hap- 
pened, that  I  was  entirely  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  to  say.  The  President,  how- 
ever, courteously  intimated  that  though  the 
case  appeared  to  present  a  good  many  very 
unsatisfactory  features,  yet  I  was  entirely 
at  liberty  to  justify  myself  if  I  could,  and, 
if  not,  to  make  submission ;  and  added  that 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       299 

I    should   be   dealt   with    as   leniently    as 
possible. 

I  summoned  up  my  courage  as  well  as 
I  might.  I  began  by  saying  that  I  claimed 
no  more  than  the  liberty  of  thought  and 
action  which  I  knew  the  Court  desired  to 
concede.  I  said  that  my  arrival  at  the 
place  was  mysterious  even  to  myself,  and 
that  I  had  simply  acted  under  orders  in 
accompanying  Cynthia,  and  in  seeing  that 
she  was  securely  bestowed.  I  said  that  I 
had  never  incited  any  rebellion,  or  any  dis- 
obedience to  laws  of  the  scope  of  which 
I  had  never  been  informed.  That  I  had 
indeed  frankly  discussed  matters  of  general 
interest  with  any  citizen  who  seemed  to 
desire  it;  that  I  had  been  always  treated 
with  marked  consideration  and  courtesy; 
and  that,  as  far  as  I  was  aware,  I  had  al- 
ways followed  the  same  policy  myself.  I 
said  that  I  was  sincerely  attached  to  Cyn- 
thia, but  added  that,  with  all  due  respect, 
I  could  no  longer  consider  myself  a  member 
of  the  community.     I  had  transferred  my- 


300       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

self  elsewhere  under  direct  orders,  with  my 
own  entire  concurrence,  and  that  I  had 
since  acted  in  accordance  with  the  customs 
and  regulations  of  the  community  to  which 
I  had  been  allotted.  I  went  on  to  say  that 
I  had  returned  under  the  impression  that 
my  presence  was  desired  by  Cynthia,  and 
that  I  must  protest  with  all  my  power 
against  the  treatment  I  had  received.  I 
had  been  arrested  and  imprisoned  with 
much  violence  and  contumely,  without  hav- 
ing had  any  opportunity  of  hearing  what 
my  offence  was  supposed  to  have  been,  or 
having  had  any  semblance  of  a  trial,  and 
that  I  could  not  consider  that  my  usage 
had  been  consistent  with  the  theory  of 
courtesy,  order,  or  justice  so  eloquently 
described  by  the  President. 

This  onslaught  of  mine  produced  an  ob- 
vious revulsion  in  my  favour.  The  Presi- 
dent conferred  hastily  with  his  colleagues, 
and  then  said  that  my  arrest  had  indeed 
been  made  upon  the  information  of  Lucius, 
and  with  the  cognisance  of  the  Court;  but 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       301 

that  he  sincerely  regretted  that  I  had  any 
complaint  of  unhandsome  usage  to  make, 
and  that  the  matter  would  be  certainly  in- 
quired into.  He  then  added  that  he  under- 
stood from  my  words  that  I  desired  to  make 
a  complete  submission,  and  that  in  that  case 
I  should  be  acquitted  of  any  evil  intentions. 
My  fault  appeared  to  be  that  I  had  yielded 
too  easily  to  the  promptings  of  an  ill- 
balanced  and  speculative  disposition,  and 
that  if  I  would  undertake  to  disturb  no 
longer  the  peace  of  the  place,  and  to  desist 
from  all  further  tampering  with  the  domes- 
tic happiness  of  a  much-respected  pair,  I 
should  be  discharged  with  a  caution,  and 
indeed  be  admitted  again  to  the  privileges 
of  orderly  residence. 

"  And  I  will  undertake  to  say,''  he  added, 
"  that  the  kindness  and  courtesy  of  our 
community  will  overlook  your  fault,  and 
make  no  further  reference  to  a  course  of  con- 
duct which  appears  to  have  been  misguided 
rather  than  deliberately  malevolent.  We 
have  every  desire  not  to  disturb  in   any 


302       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

way  the  tranquillity  which  it  is,  above 
all  things,  our  desire  to  maintain.  May 
I  conclude,  then,  that  this  is  your  in- 
tention?" 

"  No,  sir,"  I  said,  "  certainly  not !  With 
all  due  respect  to  the  Court,  I  cannot  sub- 
mit to  the  jurisdiction.  The  only  privilege 
I  claim  is  the  privilege  of  an  alien  and  a 
stranger,  who  in  a  perfectly  peaceful  man- 
ner, and  with  no  seditious  intent,  has  re- 
entered this  land,  and  has  thereupon  been 
treated  with  gross  and  unjust  violence.  I 
do  not  for  a  moment  contest  the  right  of 
this  community  to  make  its  own  laws  and 
regulations,  but  I  do  contest  its  right  to 
fetter  the  thought  and  the  liberty  of  speecli 
of  all  who  enter  it.  I  make  no  submission. 
The  Lady  Cynthia  came  here  under  my  pro- 
tection, and  if  any  undue  influence  has  been 
used,  it  has  been  used  by  Lucius,  whom  I 
treated  with  a  confidence  he  has  abused. 
And  I  here  appeal  to  a  higher  power  and 
a  higher  court,  which  may  indeed  permit 
this  unhappy  community  to  make  its  own 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       303 

regulations,  but  will  not  permit  any  gross 
violation  of  elementary  justice." 

I  was  carried  away  by  great  indignation 
in  the  course  of  my  words,  which  had  a 
very  startling  effect.  A  large  number  of  the 
audience  left  the  hall  in  haste.  The  judge 
grew  white  to  the  lips,  whether  with  anger 
or  fear  I  did  not  know,  said  a  few  words  to 
his  neighbour,  and  then  with  a  great  effort 
to  control  himself,  said  to  me: 

"  You  put  us,  sir,  by  your  words,  in  a 
very  painful  position.  You  do  not  know 
the  conditions  under  which  we  live — that 
is  evident — and  intemperate  language  like 
yours  has  before  now  provoked  an  invasion 
of  our  peace  of  a  most  undesirable  kind.  I 
entreat  you  to  calm  yourself,  to  accept  the 
apologies  of  the  Court  for  the  incidental 
and  indeed  unjustifiable  violence  with  which 
you  were  treated.  If  you  will  only  return 
to  your  own  community,  the  nature  of  which 
I  will  not  now  stay  to  inquire,  you  may  be 
assured  that  you  will  be  conducted  to  our 
gates  with  tlie  utmost  honour.     Will  you 


304       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

pledge  yourself  as  a  gentleman,  and,  as  I 
believe  I  am  right  in  saying,  as  a  Christian, 
to  do  this? '' 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  upon  one  condition :  that 
I  may  have  an  interview  with  the  Lady 
Cynthia,  and  that  she  may  be  free  to  accom- 
pany me,  if  she  wishes." 

The  President  was  about  to  reply,  when 
a  sudden  and  unlooked-for  interruption  oc- 
curred. A  man  in  a  pearly-grey  dress,  with 
a  cloak  clasped  with  gold,  came  in  at  the 
end  of  the  hall,  and  advanced  with  rapid 
steps  and  a  curiously  unconcerned  air  up 
the  hall.  The  judges  rose  in  their  places 
with  a  hurried  and  disconcerted  look.  The 
stranger  came  up  to  me,  tapped  me  on  the 
shoulder,  and  bade  me  presently  follow  him. 
Then  he  turned  to  the  President,  and  said 
in  a  clear,  peremptory  voice : 

"  Dissolve  the  Court !  Your  powers  have 
been  grossly  and  insolently  exceeded.  See 
that  nothing  of  this  sort  occurs  again !  "  and 
then,  ascending  the  dais,  he  struck  the  Presi- 
dent with  his  open  hand  hard  upon  the  cheek. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       305 

The  President  gave  a  stifled  cry  and 
staggered  in  his  place,  and  then,  covering 
his  face  with  his  hands,  went  out  at  a  door 
on  the  platform,  followed  by  the  rest  of  the 
Council  in  haste.  Then  the  man  came 
down  again,  and  motioned  me  to  follow 
him.  I  was  not  prepared  for  what  hap- 
pened. Outside  in  the  square  was  a  great, 
pale,  silent  crowd,  in  the  most  obvious  and 
dreadful  excitement  and  consternation.  We 
went  rapidly,  in  absolute  stillness,  through 
two  lines  of  people,  who  watched  us  with 
an  emotion  I  could  not  quite  interpret,  but 
it  was  something  very  like  hatred. 

"  Follow  me  quickly,'^  said  my  guide ;  "  do 
not  look  round  I  "  and,  as  we  went,  I  heard 
the  crowd  closing  up  in  a  menacing  way 
behind  us.  But  we  walked  straight  for- 
ward, neither  slowly  nor  hurriedly  but  at 
a  deliberate  pace,  to  the  gateway  which 
opened  on  the  cliffs.  At  this  point  I  saw 
a  confusion  in  the  crowd,  as  though  some 
one  were  being  kept  back,  and  in  the  fore- 
front of  the  throng,  gesticulating  and  argu- 


3o6       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

ing,  was  Lucius  himself,  with  his  back  to 
us.  Just  as  we  reached  the  gate  I  heard  a 
cry ;  and  from  the  crowd  there  ran  Cynthia, 
with  her  hair  unbound,  in  terror  and  faint- 
ness.  Our  guide  opened  the  gate,  and  mo- 
tioned us  swiftly  through,  turning  round  to 
face  the  crowd,  which  now  ran  in  upon  us. 
I  saw  him  wave  his  arm ;  and  then  he  came 
quickly  through  the  gate  and  closed  it.  He 
looked  at  us  with  a  smile.  "  Don't  be 
afraid,"  he  said ;  "  that  was  a  dangerous 
business.  But  they  cannot  touch  us  here.'' 
As  he  said  the  w^ord,  there  burst  from  the 
gardens  behind  us  a  storm  of  the  most 
hideous  and  horrible  cries  I  had  ever  heard, 
like  the  howling  of  wild  beasts.  Cynthia 
clung  to  me  in  terror,  and  nearly  swooned 
in  my  arms.  "  Never  mind,"  said  the 
guide ;  "  they  are  disappointed,  and  no 
wonder.  It  was  a  near  thing;  but,  poor 
creatures,  they  have  no  initiative ;  their  life 
is  not  a  fortifying  one;  and  besides,  they 
will  have  forgotten  all  about  it  to-morrow. 
But  we  had  better  not  stop  here.     There  is 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       307 

no  use  in  facing  disagreeable  things,  unless 
one  is  obliged."  And  he  led  the  way  down 
the  valley. 

When  we  had  got  a  little  farther  off,  our 
guide  told  us  to  sit  down  and  rest.  Cyn- 
thia was  still  very  much  frightened,  speech- 
less with  excitement  and  agitation,  and,  like 
all  impulsive  people,  regretting  her  decision. 
I  saw  that  it  was  useless  to  say  anything  to 
her  at  present.  She  sat  wearily  enough,  her 
eyes  closed,  and  her  hands  clasped.  Our  guide 
looked  at  me  with  a  half-smile,  and  said: 

"  That  was  rather  an  unpleasant  busi- 
ness! It  is  astonishing  how  excited  those 
placid  and  polite  people  can  get  if  they 
think  their  privileges  are  being  threatened. 
But  really  that  Court  was  rather  too  much. 
They  have  tried  it  before  with  some  suc- 
cess, and  it  is  a  clever  trick.  But  they  have 
had  a  lesson  to-day,  and  it  will  not  need 
to  be  repeated  for  a  while." 

"  You  arrived  just  at  the  right  moment," 
I  said,  "  and  I  really  cannot  express  how 
grateful  I  am  to  you  for  your  help." 


3o8       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

"  Oh,"  lie  said;,  "  you  were  quite  safe.  It 
was  just  that  touch  of  temper  that  saved 
you;  but  I  was  hard  by  all  the  time,  to 
see  that  things  did  not  go  too  far." 

"  May  I  ask,"  I  said,  "  exactly  what  they 
could  have  done  to  me,  and  what  their  real 
power  is?  " 

"  They  have  none  at  all,"  he  said.  "  They 
could  not  really  have  done  anything  to  you, 
except  imprison  you.  What  helps  them  is 
not  their  own  power,  which  is  nothing, 
but  the  terror  of  their  victims.  If  you 
had  not  been  frightened  when  you  Avere 
first  attacked,  they  could  not  have  over- 
powered you.  It  is  all  a  kind  of  play- 
acting, which  they  perform  with  remarkable 
skill.  The  Court  was  really  an  admirable 
piece  of  drama — they  have  a  great  gift  for 
representation." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  I  said,  "  that  they 
were  actually  aware  that  they  had  no  sort 
of  power  to  inflict  any  injury  upon  me?  " 

"  They  could  have  made  it  very  disagree- 
able for  you,"  he  said,  ^^  if  they  had  fright- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       309 

ened  you,  and  kept  you  frightened.  As  long 
as  that  lasted,  you  would  have  been  ex- 
tremely uncomfortable.  But  as  you  saw, 
the  moment  you  defied  them  they  were 
helpless.  The  part  played  by  Lucius  was 
really  unpardonable.  I  am  afraid  he  is  a 
great  rascal.'' 

Cynthia  faintly  demurred  to  this.  "  Never 
mind,"  said  the  guide  soothingly,  "  he  has 
only  shown  you  his  good  side,  of  course; 
and  I  don't  deny  that  he  is  a  very  clever 
and  attractive  fellow.  But  he  makes  no 
progress,  and  I  am  really  afraid  that  he 
will  have  to  be  transferred  elsewhere; 
though  there  is  indeed  one  hope  for  him." 

"  Tell  me  what  that  is,"  said  Cynthia 
faintly. 

"  I  don't  think  I  need  do  that,"  said  our 
friend,  "  you  know  better  than  I ;  and  some 
day,  I  think,  when  you  are  stronger,  you 
will  find  the  way  to  release  him." 

"  Ah,  you  don't  know  him  as  I  do,"  said 
Cynthia,  and  relapsed  into  silence;  but  did 
not  withdraw  her  hand  from  mine. 


3IO       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

"  Well,"  said  our  guide  after  a  moment's 
pause,  *'  I  think  I  have  done  all  I  can  for 
the  time  being,  and  I  am  wanted  elsewhere." 

"  But  will  jou  not  advise  me  what  to  do 
next?"  I  said.  "I  do  not  see  my  way 
clear." 

"  No,"  said  the  guide  rather  drily,  "  I  am 
afraid  I  cannot  do  that.  That  lies  outside 
my  province.  These  delicate  questions  are 
not  in  my  line.  I  will  tell  you  plainly  what 
I  am.  I  am  just  a  messenger,  perhaps  more 
like  a  policeman,"  he  added,  smiling,  "  than 
anything  else.  I  just  go  and  appear  when 
I  am  wanted,  if  there  is  a  row  or  a  chance 
of  one.  Don't  misunderstand  me !  "  he  said 
more  kindly.  "  It  is  not  from  any  lack  of 
interest  in  you  or  our  friend  here.  I  should 
very  much  like  to  know  what  step  you  will 
take,  but  it  is  simply  not  my  business: 
our  duties  here  are  very  clearly  defined, 
and  I  can  just  do  my  job,  and  nothing 
more." 

He  made  a  courteous  salute,  and  walked 
off  without  looking  back,  leaving  on  me  the 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn      311 

impression  of  a  young  military  officer,  per- 
fectly courteous  and  reliable,  not  inclined 
to  cultivate  his  emotions  or  to  waste  words, 
but  absolutely  effective,  courageous,  and 
dutiful. 

"Well,"  I  said  to  Cynthia  with  a  show 
of  cheerfulness,  "  what  shall  we  do  next? 
Are  you  feeling  strong  enough  to  go  on?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Cynthia 
wearily.  "Don't  ask  me.  I  have  had  a 
great  fright,  and  I  begin  to  wish  I  had 
stayed  behind.  How  uncomfortable  every- 
thing is!  Why  can  one  never  have  a  mo- 
ment's peace?  There,"  she  said  to  me, 
"don't  be  vexed,  I  am  not  blaming  you; 
but  I  hated  you  for  not  showing  more  fight 
when  those  men  set  on  you,  and  I  hated 
Lucius  for  having  done  it ;  you  must  forgive 
me!  I  am  sure  you  only  did  what  was 
kind  and  right — but  I  have  had  a  very  try- 
ing time,  and  I  don't  like  these  bothers. 
Let  me  alone  for  a  little,  and  I  daresay  I 
shall  be  more  sensible." 

I  sat  by  her  in  much  perplexity,  feeling 


312       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

singularly  helpless  and  ineffective;  and  in 
a  moment  of  weakness,  not  knowing  what 
to  do,  I  wished  that  Amroth  were  near  me, 
to  advise  me;  and  to  my  relief  saw  him 
approaching,  but  also  realised  in  a  flash 
that  I  had  acted  wrongly,  and  that  he  was 
angry,  as  I  had  never  seen  him  before. 

He  came  up  to  us,  and  bending  down  to 
Cynthia  with  great  tenderness,  took  her 
hand,  and  said,  "  Will  you  stay  here  quietly 
a  little,  Cynthia,  and  rest?  You  are  per- 
fectly safe  now,  and  no  one  will  come  near 
you.  We  two  shall  be  close  at  hand;  but 
we  must  have  a  talk  together,  and  see  what 
can  be  done." 

Cynthia  smiled  and  released  me.  Am- 
roth beckoned  me  to  withdraw  with  him. 
When  we  had  got  out  of  earshot,  he  turned 
upon  me  very  fiercely,  and  said,  "  You  have 
made  a  great  mess  of  this  business." 

"  I  know  it,"  I  said  feebly,  "  but  I  can- 
not for  the  life  of  me  see  where  I  was 
wrong." 

"  You   were   wrong   from    beginning   to 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       313 

end,"  he  said.  "  Cannot  you  see  that,  what- 
ever  this  place  is,  it  is  not  a  sentimental 
place?  It  is  all  this  wretched  sentiment 
that  has  done  the  mischief.  Come,"  he 
added,  "  I  have  an  unpleasant  task  before 
me,  to  unmask  you  to  yourself.  I  don't 
like  it,  but  I  must  do  it.  Don't  make  it 
harder  for  me." 

"  Very  good,"  I  said,  rather  angrily  too. 
"  But  allow  me  to  say  this  first.  This  is 
a  place  of  muddle.  One  is  worked  too  hard, 
and  shown  too  many  things,  till  one  is  hope- 
lessly confused.  But  I  had  rather  have 
your  criticism  first,  and  then  I  will  make 
mine." 

"  Very  well ! "  said  Amroth  facing  me, 
looking  at  me  fixedly  with  his  blue  eyes, 
and  his  nostrils  a  little  distended.  "The 
mischief  lies  in  your  temperament.  You 
are  precocious,  and  you  are  volatile.  You 
have  had  special  opportunities,  and  in  a 
way  you  have  used  them  well,  but  your 
head  has  been  somewhat  turned  by  your 
successes.     You  came  to  that  place  yonder. 


314       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

with  Cynthia,  with  a  sense  of  superiority. 
You  thought  yourself  too  good  for  it,  and 
instead  of  just  trying  to  see  into  the  minds 
and  hearts  of  the  people  you  met,  you  de- 
spised them;  instead  of  learning,  you  tried 
to  teach.  You  took  a  feeble  interest  in  Cyn- 
thia, made  a  pet  of  her;  then,  when  I  took 
you  away,  you  forgot  all  about  her.  Even 
the  great  things  I  was  allowed  to  show  you 
did  not  make  you  humble.  You  took  them 
as  a  compliment  to  your  powers.  And  so 
when  you  had  your  chance  to  go  back  to 
help  Cynthia,  you  thought  out  no  plan,  you 
asked  no  advice.  You  went  down  in  a  very 
self-sufficient  mood,  expecting  that  every- 
thing would  be  easy." 

"  That  is  not  true,''  I  said.  "  I  was  very 
much  perplexed." 

"  It  is  only  too  true,"  said  Amroth ;  "  you 
enjoyed  your  perplexity;  I  daresay  you 
called  it  faith  to  yourself!  It  was  that 
which  made  you  weak.  You  lost  your 
temper  with  Lucius,  you  made  a  miserable 
fight  of  it — and  even  in  prison  you  could 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       315 

not  recognise  that  you  were  in  fault.  You 
did  better  at  the  trial — I  fully  admit  that 
you  behaved  well  there — but  the  fault  is 
in  this,  that  this  girl  gave  you  her  heart 
and  her  confidence,  and  you  despised  them. 
Your  mind  was  taken  up  with  other  things ; 
a  very  little  more,  and  you  would  be  fit  for 
the  intellectual  paradise.  There,''  he  said, 
"  I  have  nearly  done  I  You  may  be  angry 
if  you  will,  but  that  is  the  truth.  You  have 
a  wrong  idea  of  this  place.  It  is  not  plain 
sailing  here.  Life  here  is  a  very  serious, 
very  intricate,  very  difficult  business.  The 
only  complications  which  are  removed  are 
the  complications  of  the  body;  but  one  has 
anxious  and  trying  responsibilities  all  the 
same,  and  you  have  trifled  with  them.  You 
must  not  delude  yourself.  You  have  many 
good  qualities.  You  have  some  courage, 
much  ingenuity,  keen  interests,  and  a  good 
deal  of  conscientiousness ;  but  you  have  the 
makings  of  a  dilettante,  the  readiness  to 
delude  yourself  that  the  particular  little 
.work  you  are  engaged  in  is  excessively  and 


3i6       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

peculiarly  important.  You  have  got  the 
proportion  all  wrong.'^ 

I  had  a  feeling  of  intense  anger  and  bit- 
terness at  all  this;  but  as  he  spoke,  the 
scales  seemed  to  fall  from  my  eyes,  and  I 
saw  that  Amroth  was  right  I  wrestled 
with  myself  in  silence. 

Presently  I  said,  "  Amroth,  I  believe  you 
are  right,  though  I  think  at  this  moment 
that  you  have  stated  all  this  rather  harshly. 
But  I  do  see  that  it  can  be  no  pleasure  to 
you  to  state  it,  though  I  fear  I  shall  never 
regain  my  pleasure  in  your  company." 

"  There,'^  said  Amroth,  "  that  is  senti- 
ment again  I " 

This  put  me  into  a  great  passion. 

"  Very  well,"  I  said,  "  I  will  say  no  more. 
Perhaps  you  will  just  be  good  enough  to 
tell  me  what  I  am  to  do  with  Cynthia,  and 
where  I  am  to  go,  and  then  I  will  trouble 
you  no  longer." 

"  Oh,"  said  Amroth  with  a  sneer,  "  I  have 
no  doubt  you  can  find  some  very  nice  semi- 
detached villas  hereabouts.     Why  not  set- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       317 

tie  down,  and  make  the  poor  girl  a  little 
more  worthy  of  yourself?  '^ 

At  this  I  turned  from  him  in  great 
anger,  and  left  him  standing  where  he 
was.  If  ever  I  hated  any  one,  I  hated 
Amroth  at  that  moment.  I  went  back  to 
Cynthia. 

"  I  have  come  back  to  you,  dear,''  I  said. 
"  Can-  you  trust  me  and  go  with  me?  No 
one  here  seems  inclined  to  help  us,  and  we 
must  just  help  each  other.'' 

At  which  Cynthia  rose  and  flung  herself 
into  my  arms. 

"  That  was  what  I  wanted  all  along,"  she 
said,  "  to  feel  that  I  could  be  of  use  too. 
You  will  see  how  brave  I  can  be.  I  can 
go  anywhere  with  you  and  do  anything, 
because  I  think  I  have  loved  you  all  the 
time." 

"  And  you  must  forgive  me,  Cynthia," 
I  said,  "  as  well.  For  I  did  not  know 
till  this  moment  that  I  loved  you,  but  I 
know  it  now;  and  I  shall  love  you  to  the 
end." 


3i8       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

As  I  said  these  words  I  turned,  and  saw 
Amroth  smiling  from  afar;  then  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand  to  us,  he  turned  and 
passed  out  of  our  sight. 


XXVIII 

Left  to  ourselves,  Cynthia  and  I  sat  awhile 
in  silence,  hand  in  hand,  like  children,  she 
looking  anxiously  at  me.  Our  talk  had 
broken  down  all  possible  reserve  between 
us;  but  what  was  strange  to  me  was  that 
I  felt,  not  like  a  lover  with  any  need  to 
woo,  but  as  though  we  two  had  long  since 
been  wedded,  and  had  just  come  to  a  know- 
ledge of  each  other's  hearts.  At  last  we 
rose;  and  strange  and  bewildering  as  it 
all  was,  I  think  I  was  perhaps  happier  at 
this  time  than  at  any  other  time  in  the  land 
of  light,  before  or  after. 

And  let  me  here  say  a  word  about  these 
strange  unions  of  soul  that  take  place  in 
that  other  land.  There  is  there  a  whole 
range  of  affections,  from  courteous  toler- 
ance to  intense  passion.  But  there  is  a 
peculiar  bond  which  springs  up  between 
319 


320       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

pairs  ot  people,  not  alwajs  of  different  sex, 
in  that  coonlbrf.  Mj  relation  with  Amroth 
had  nothing  of  that  emotion  abont  it.  That 
was  simplj  like  a  transcendental  essence  of 
perfect  fnenddiip;  bnt  there  was  a  peculiar 
reialion,  between  pairs  of  souls,  which 
seems  to  impty  amne  conons  dnality  of 
nature,  of  which  earthly  passion  is  but  a 
ifymboL  It  is  accompanied  bj  an  absolute 
deamess  of  Tision  into  the  inmost  soul  and 
b«ng  of  the  other.  Cynthia^s  mind  was  as 
to  me  In  those  dajs  as  a  crystal  s^obe 
be  whkh  one  eoold  hold  in  cme^s 
hand,  and  mj  mind  was  as  clear  to  her. 
There  is  a  sense  aeoompan jing  it  almost  of 
identity,  as  If  the  either  nature  was  the 
exact  and  perfect  complement  of  cme"^  own ; 
I  can  ex^aln  this  best  by  an  image.  Think 
of  a  sphere,  let  ns  sny,  of  alabaster,  broken 
into  two  pieces  by  a  blow,  and  one  piece 
pot  away  or  mislaid.  The  first  pieee,  let 
ns  soppoae,  itands  In  Its  aecastnmed  places 
and  the  Ofwner  <tften  ttlnks  in  a  tririal  way 
of  having  It  restored.     Que  d^^,  turning 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn      321 

orer  some  Imnber,  he  finds  Ihe  other  piece, 
and  wonders  if  it  is  not  tlie  lost  £ng;Dient. 
He  takes  it  with  him,  and  sees  on  appljin^ 
it  that  the  fractuwas  eone^ond  exactfy, 
and  that  joined  toff&er  tlie  pieees 
plete  the  spheie. 

Eren  so  did  Cynthia's  sool  fit  into 
Bnt  I  grew  to  understand  later  the  words 
of  the  Gospd — ^they  neither  marrj  nofr 
are  giren  in  marriagB.''  These  nnlcns  aie 
not  permanent^  anj  more  than  th^  are 
really  permanent  on  earth.  On  earth,  owing 
to  material  consideratimis  soeh  as  dtHdien 
and  property,  a  marriage  is  kMdked  npon  as 
indisBolnble  Bnt  this  tak^  no  account  of 
the  devidopment  of  sonls;  and  indeed  many 
of  the  unions  of  earth,  the  pa£gi<m  once 
OTer,  do  grow  into  a  Teej  noUe  and  besnti- 
fnl  frienddiipL  But  sranetim 
earth,  it  is  the  other  way;  and 
extinct,  two  natures  often  realise  their  dls- 
Rimilarities  rather  than  th^  similarities; 
and  this  is  the  cause  of  much  unhappneHS. 
But  in  the  other  land,  two 


322       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

velop  in  quite  different  ways  and  at  a  dif- 
ferent pace.  And  then  this  relation  may 
also  come  quietly  and  simply  to  an  end, 
without  the  least  resentment  or  regret,  and 
is  succeeded  invariably  by  a  very  tender 
and  true  friendship,  each  being  sweetly  and 
serenely  content  with  all  that  has  been 
given  or  received;  and  this  friendship  is 
not  shaken  or  fretted,  even  if  both  of  the 
lovers  form  new  ties  of  close  intimacy. 
Some  natures  form  many  of  these  ties, 
some  few,  some  none  at  all.  I  believe  that, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  each  nature  has  its 
counterpart  at  all  times,  but  does  not  al- 
ways succeed  in  finding  it.  But  the  union, 
when  it  comes,  seems  to  take  precedence  of 
all  other  emotions  and  all  other  work.  I 
did  not  know  this  at  the  time;  but  I  had 
a  sense  that  my  work  was  for  a  time  over, 
because  it  seemed  quite  plain  to  me  that 
as  yet  Cynthia  was  not  in  the  least  degree 
suited  to  the  sort  of  work  which  I  had  been 
doing. 

We  walked  on  together  for  some  time,  in 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       323 

a  happy  silence,  though  quiet  communica- 
tions of  a  blessed  sort  passed  perpetually 
between  us  without  any  interchange  of 
word.  Our  feet  moved  along  the  hillside, 
away  from  the  crags,  because  I  felt  that 
Cynthia  had  no  strength  to  climb  them; 
and  I  wondered  what  our  life  would  be. 

Presently  a  valley  opened  before  us,  fold- 
ing quietly  in  among  the  hills,  full  of  a 
golden  haze;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  our 
further  way  lay  down  it.  It  fell  softly  and 
securely  into  a  further  plain,  the  country 
being  quite  unlike  anything  I  had  as  yet  seen 
— a  land  of  high  and  craggy  mountains,  the 
lower  parts  of  them  much  overgrown  with 
woods;  the  valley  itself  widened  out,  and 
passed  gently  among  the  hills,  with  here 
and  there  a  lake.  Dotted  all  about  the 
mountain-bases,  at  the  edges  of  the  woods, 
were  little  white  houses,  stone-walled  and 
stone-tiled,  with  small  gardens;  and  then 
the  place  seemed  to  become  strangely  fa- 
miliar and  homelike;  and  I  became  aware 
that  I  was  coming  home:  the  same  thought 


324       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

occurred  to  Cynthia;  and  at  last,  when  we 
turned  a  corner  of  the  road,  and  saw  lying 
a  little  back  from  the  road  a  small  house, 
with  a  garden  in  front  of  it,  shaded  by  a 
group  of  sycamores,  we  darted  forwards 
with  a  cry  of  delight  to  the  home  that  was 
indeed  our  own.  The  door  stood  open  as 
though  we  were  certainly  expected.  It  was 
the  simplest  little  place,  just  a  pair  of 
rooms  very  roughly  and  plainly  furnished. 
And  there  we  embraced  with  tears  of  joy. 


XXIX 

The  time  that  I  spent  in  the  valley  home 
with  Cynthia  is  the  most  difficult  to  de- 
scribe of  all  my  wanderings;  because,  in- 
deed, there  is  nothing  to  describe.  We  were 
always  together.  Sometimes  we  wandered 
high  up  among  the  woods,  and  came  out  on 
the  bleak  mountain-heads.  Sometimes  we 
sat  within  and  talked;  and  by  a  curious 
provision  there  were  phenomena  there  that 
w^ere  more  like  changes  of  weather,  and  in- 
terchange of  day  and  night,  than  at  any 
other  place  in  the  heavenly  country.  Some- 
times the  whole  valley  would  be  shrouded 
with  mists,  sometimes  it  would  be  grey  and 
overcast,  sometimes  the  light  was  clear  and 
radiant,  but  through  it  all  there  beat  a 
pulse  of  light  and  darkness;  and  I  do  not 
know  which  was  the  more  desirable — the 
hours  when  we  walked  in  the  forests,  with 
325 


326       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

the  wind  moving  softly  in  the  leaves  over- 
head like  a  falling  sea,  or  those  calm  and 
silent  nights  when  we  seemed  to  sleep  and 
dream,  or  when,  if  I  waked,  I  could  hear 
Cynthia's  breath  coming  and  going  evenly 
as  the  breath  of  a  tired  child.  It  seemed 
like  the  essence  of  human  passion,  the  end 
that  lovers  desire,  and  discern  faintly  be- 
hind and  beyond  the  accidents  of  sense  and 
contact,  like  the  sounding  of  a  sweet  chord, 
without  satiety  or  fever  of  the  sense. 

I  learnt  many  strange  and  beautiful 
secrets  of  the  human  heart  in  those  days: 
what  the  dreams  of  womanhood  are — how 
wholly  different  from  the  dreams  of  man, 
in  which  there  is  always  a  combative  ele- 
ment. The  soul  of  Cynthia  was  like  a 
silent  cleft  among  the  hills,  which  waits, 
in  its  own  still  content,  until  the  horn  of 
the  shepherd  winds  the  notes  of  a  chord  in 
the  valley  below;  and  then  the  cleft  makes 
answer  and  returns  an  airy  echo,  blending 
the  notes  into  a  harmony  of  dulcet  utter- 
ance.   And  she  too,  I  doubt  not,  learnt  some- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn      327 

thing  from  my  soul,  which  was  eager  and 
inventive  enough,  but  restless  and  fugitive 
of  purpose.  And  then  there  came  a  further 
joy  to  us.  That  which  is  fatherly  and 
motherly  in  the  world  below  is  not  a  thing 
that  is  lost  in  heaven ;  and  just  as  the  love 
of  man  and  woman  can  draw  down  and 
imprison  a  soul  in  a  body  of  flesh,  so  in 
heaven  the  dear  intention  of  one  soul  to 
another  brings  about  a  yearning,  which 
grows  day  by  day  in  intensity,  for  some 
further  outlet  of  love  and  care. 

It  was  one  quiet  misty  morning  that,  as 
we  sat  together  in  tranquil  talk,  we  heard 
faltering  steps  within  our  garden.  We  had 
seen,  let  me  say,  very  little  of  the  other 
inhabitants  of  our  valley.  We  had  some- 
times seen  a  pair  of  figures  wandering  at 
a  distance,  and  we  had  even  met  neigh- 
bours and  exchanged  a  greeting.  But  the 
valley  had  no  social  life  of  its  own,  and 
no  one  ever  seemed,  so  far  as  we  knew,  to 
enter  any  other  dwelling,  though  they  met 
in  quiet  friendliness.     Cynthia  went  to  the 


328       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

door  and  opened  it;  then  she  darted  out, 
and,  just  when  I  was  about  to  follow,  she 
returned,  leading  by  the  hand  a  tiny  child, 
who  looked  at  us  with  an  air  of  perfect 
contentment  and  simplicity. 

"  Where  on  earth  has  this  enchanting 
baby  sprung  from?  "  said  Cynthia,  seating 
the  child  upon  her  lap,  and  beginning  to 
talk  to  it  in  a  strangely  unintelligible  lan- 
guage, which  the  child  appeared  to  under- 
stand perfectly. 

I  laughed.  "  Out  of  our  two  hearts,  per- 
haps," I  said.  At  which  Cynthia  blushed, 
and  said  that  I  did  not  understand  or  care 
for  children.  She  added  that  men's  only 
idea  about  children  was  to  think  how  much 
they  could  teach  them. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  we  will  begin  lessons  to- 
morrow, and  go  on  to  the  Latin  Grammar 
very  shortly." 

At  which  Cynthia  folded  the  child  in  her 
arms,  to  defend  it,  and  reassured  it  in  a 
sentence  which  is  far  too  silly  to  set  down 
here. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       329 

I  think  that  sometimes  on  earth  the  ar- 
rival of  a  first  child  is  a  very  trying  time 
for  a  wedded  pair.  The  husband  is  apt  to 
find  his  wife's  love  almost  withdrawn  from 
him,  and  to  see  her  nourishing  all  kinds  of 
jealousies  and  vague  ambitions  for  her 
child.  Paternity  is  apt  to  be  a  very  be- 
wildered and  often  rather  dramatic  emo- 
tion. But  it  was  not  so  with  us.  The 
child  seemed  the  very  thing  we  had  been 
needing  without  knowing  it.  It  was  a  con- 
stant source  of  interest  and  delight ;  and  in 
spite  of  Cynthia's  attempts  to  keep  it  ig- 
norant and  even  fatuous,  it  did  develop  a 
very  charming  intelligence,  or  rather,  as  I 
soon  saw,  began  to  perceive  what  it  already 
knew.  It  soon  overw^helmed  us  with  ques- 
tions, and  used  to  patter  about  the  garden 
with  me,  airing  all  sorts  of  delicious  and 
absurd  fancies.  But,  for  all  that,  it  did 
seem  to  make  an  end  of  the  first  utter  close- 
ness of  our  love.  Cynthia  after  this  seldom 
went  far  afield,  and  I  ranged  the  hills  and 
woods  alone;  but  it  was  all  absurdly  and 


330       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

continuously  happy,  though  I  began  to 
wonder  how  long  it  could  last,  and  whether 
my  faculties  and  energies,  such  as  they 
were,  could  continue  thus  unused.  And  I 
had,  too,  in  my  mind  that  other  scene  which 
I  had  beheld,  of  how  the  boy  was  withdrawn 
from  the  two  old  people  in  the  other  valley. 
Was  it  always  thus,  I  wondered?  Was  it 
so,  that  souls  were  drawn  upwards  in 
ceaseless  pilgrimage,  loving  and  passing  on, 
and  leaving  in  the  hearts  of  those  who 
stayed  behind  a  longing  unassuaged,  which 
was  presently  to  draw  them  onwards  from 
the  peace  which  they  loved  perhaps  too 
well? 


XXX 

The  serene  life  came  all  to  an  end  very 
suddenly,  and  with  no  warning.  One  day 
I  had  been  sitting  with  Cynthia,  and  the 
child  was  playing  on  the  floor  with  some 
little  things — stones,  bits  of  sticks,  nuts— 
which  it  had  collected.  It  was  a  mysterious 
game  too,  accompanied  with  much  impres- 
sive talk  and  gesticulations,  much  emphatic 
lecturing  of  recalcitrant  pebbles,  with  in- 
terludes of  unaccountable  laughter.  We 
had  been  watching  the  child,  when  Cynthia 
leaned  across  to  me  and  said : 

"  There  is  something  in  your  mind,  dear, 
which  I  cannot  quite  see  into.  It  has  been 
there  for  a  long  time,  and  I  have  not  liked 
to  ask  you  about  it.  Won't  you  tell  me 
what  it  is?  -' 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  I  said ;  "  I  will  tell  you 
anything  I  can." 

331 


332       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

"  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  me/'  said 
Cynthia,  "  nor  with  the  child ;  it  is  about 
yourself,  I  think;  and  it  is  not  altogether 
a  happy  thought.'' 

"  It  is  not  unhappy,"  I  said,  "  because  I 
am  very  happy  and  very  well-content.  It 
is  just  this,  I  think.  You  know,  don't  yoa, 
how  I  was  being  employed,  before  I  came 
back,  God  be  praised,  to  find  you?  I  was 
being  trained,  very  carefully  and  elabo- 
rately trained,  I  won't  say  to  help  people, 
but  to  be  of  use  in  a  way.  Well,  I  have 
been  wondering  why  all  that  was  suspended 
and  cut  short,  just  when  I  seemed  to  be 
finishing  my  training.  I  have  been  much 
happier  here  than  I  ever  was  before,  of 
course.  Indeed  I  have  been  so  happy  that 
I  have  sometimes  thought  it  almost  wrong 
that  any  one  should  have  so  much  to  en- 
joy. But  I  am  puzzled,  because  the  other 
work  seems  thrown  away.  If  you  wonder 
whether  I  want  to  leave  our  life  here  and 
go  back  to  the  other,  of  course  I  do  not; 
but  I  have  felt  idle,  and  like  a  boy  turned 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       333 


down  from  a  high  class  at  school  to  a  low 
one.'' 

"  That  is  not  very  complimentary  to  me !  " 
said  Cynthia,  laughing.  "  Suppose  we  say 
a  boy  who  has  been  working  too  hard  for 
his  health,  and  has  been  given  a  long 
holiday?  " 

"  Yes,'-  I  said,  "  that  is  better.  It  is  as 
if  a  clerk  was  told  that  he  need  not  attend 
his  office,  but  stay  at  home;  and  though  it 
is  pleasant  enough,  he  feels  as  if  he  ought 
to  be  at  his  work,  that  he  appreciates  his 
home  all  the  more  when  he  can't  sit  reading 
the  paper  all  the  morning,  and  that  he  does 
not  love  his  home  less,  but  rather  more, 
because  he  is  away  all  the  day." 

"  Yes,"  said  Cynthia,  "  that  is  sensible 
enough;  and  I  am  amazed  sometimes  that 
you  can  be  so  good  and  patient  about  it 
all — so  content  to  be  so  much  with  me  and 
baby  here;  but  I  don't  think  it  is  quite — 
\vhat  shall  I  say? — quite  healthy  either!" 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  have  no  wish  to 
change;  and  here,  I  am  glad  to  think,  there 


334       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

is  never  any  doubt  about  what  one  is  meant 
to  do." 

And  so  the  subject  dropped. 

How  little  I  thought  then  that  this  was 
to  be  the  end  of  the  old  scene,  and  that  the 
curtain  was  to  draw  up  so  suddenly  upon 
a  new  one. 

But  the  following  morning  I  had  been 
wandering  contentedly  enough  in  the  wood, 
watching  the  shafts  of  light  strike  in  among 
the  trees,  upon  the  glittering  fronds  of  the 
ferns,  and  thinking  idly  of  all  my  strange 
experiences.  I  came  home,  and  to  my  sur- 
prise, as  I  came  to  the  door,  I  heard  talk 
going  on  inside.  I  went  hastily  in,  and 
saw  that  Cynthia  was  not  alone.  She 
was  sitting,  looking  very  grave  and  serious, 
and  wonderfully  beautiful — her  beauty  had 
grown  and  increased  in  a  marvellous  way 
of  late.  And  there  were  two  men,  one  sit- 
ting in  a  chair  near  her  and  regarding  her 
with  a  look  of  love;  it  was  Lucius;  and  I 
saw  at  a  glance  that  he  was  strangely 
changed.     He  had  the  same  spirited  and 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       335 

mirthful  look  as  of  old,  but  there  wa«  some- 
thing there  which  I  had  never  seen  before 
— the  look  of  a  man  who  had  work  of  his 
own,  and  had  learned  something  of  the  per- 
plexity and  suffering  of  responsibility.  The 
other  was  Amroth,  who  was  looking  at  the 
two  with  an  air  of  irrepressible  amusement. 
When  I  entered,  Lucius  rose,  and  Amroth 
said  to  me: 

"  Here  I  am  again,  you  see,  and  wonder- 
ing whether  you  can  regain  the  pleasure 
you  once  were  kind  enough  to  take  in  mj' 
company?  " 

"  What  nonsense !  "  I  said  rather  shame- 
facedly. "  How  often  have  I  blushed  in 
secret  to  think  of  that  awful  remark.  But 
I  was  rather  harried,  you  must  admit." 

Amroth  came  across  to  me  and  put  his 
arm  through  mine. 

"  I  forgive  you,"  he  said,  "  and  I  will 
admit  that  I  was  very  provoking;  but  things 
were  in  a  mess,  and,  besides,  it  was  very 
inconvenient  for  me  to  be  called  away  at 
that  moment  from  my  job ! " 


336       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

But  Lucius  came  up  to  me  and  said: 

"  I  have  come  to  apologise  to  you.  My 
behaviour  was  hideous  and  horrible.  I 
won't  make  any  excuses,  and  I  don't  sup- 
pose you  can  ever  forget  what  I  did.  I 
was  utterly  and  entirely  in  the  wrong." 

"  Thank  you,  Lucius,"  I  said.  "  But 
please  say  no  more  about  it.  My  own  be- 
haviour on  that  occasion  was  infamous  too. 
And  really  we  need  not  go  back  on  all  that. 
The  whole  affair  has  become  quite  an  agree- 
able reminiscence.  It  is  a  pleasure,  when 
it  is  all  over,  to  have  been  thoroughly  and 
w^holesomely  shown  up,  and  to  discover  that 
one  has  been  a  pompous  and  priggish  ass. 
And  you  and  Amroth  between  you  did  me 
that  blessed  turn.  I  am  not  quite  sure 
which  of  you  I  hated  most.  But  I  may 
say  one  thing,  and  that  is  that  I  am  heart- 
ily glad  to  see  you  have  left  the  land  of 
delight." 

"  It  was  a  tedious  place  really,"  said 
Lucius,  "  but  one  felt  bound  in  honour  to 
make  the  best  of  it.     But  indeed  after  that 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       337 

day  it  was  liorrible.  And  I  wearied  for  a 
sight  of  Cynthia!  But  you  seem  to  have 
done  very  well  for  yourselves  here.  May 
I  venture  to  say  frankly  how  well  she  is 
looking,  and  you  too?  But  I  am  not  going 
to  interrupt  you.  I  have  got  my  billet,  T 
am  thankful  to  say.  It  is  not  a  very  ex- 
alted one,  but  it  is  better  than  I  deserve; 
and  I  shall  try  to  make  up  for  wasted 
time." 

"  Hear,  hear !  "  said  Amroth ;  "  a  very 
creditable  sentiment,  to  be  sure !  " 

Lucius  smiled  and  blushed.  Then  he 
said : 

"  I  never  was  much  of  a  hand  at  express- 
ing myself  correctly ;  but  you  know  what  I 
mean.  Don't  take  the  wind  out  of  my 
sails ! " 

And  then  Amroth  turned  to  me,  and  said 
suddenly : 

"  And  now  I  have  something  else  to  tell 
you,  and  not  wholly  good  news;  so  I  will 
just  say  it  at  once,  without  beating  about 
the  bush.     You  are  to  come  with  us  too," 


338       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

Cyntliia  looked  up  suddenly  with  a  glance 
of  pale  inquiry.     Amroth  took  her  hand. 

"  No,  dear  child,"  he  said,  "  you  are  not 
to  accompany  him.  You  must  stay  here 
awhile,  until  the  child  is  grown.  But  don't 
look  like  that!  There  is  no  such  thing  as 
separation  here,  or  anywhere.  Don't  make 
it  harder  for  us  all.  It  is  unpleasant  of 
course;  but,  good  heavens,  what  would  be- 
come of  us  all  if  it  were  not  for  that!  How 
dull  we  should  be  without  suffering!  " 

"  Yes,  yes,''  said  Cynthia,  "  I  know — and 
I  will  say  nothing  against  it.  But — ''  and 
she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Amroth  cheerfully, 
"  we  must  not  go  back  to  the  old  days,  and 
behave  as  if  there  were  partings  and  funer- 
als. I  will  give  you  five  minutes  alone  to 
say  good-bye.  Lucius,  we  must  start,"  and, 
turning  to  me,  he  said,  "  Meet  us  in  five 
minutes  by  the  oak-tree  in  the  road." 

They  went  out,  Lucius  kissing  Cynthia's 
hand  in  silence. 

Cynthia  came  up  to  me  and  put  her  arms 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       339 

round  my  neck  and  her  cheek  to  mine.  We 
sobbed,  I  fear,  like  two  children. 

"  Don't  forget  me,  dearest,"  she  said. 

"  My  darling,  what  a  word !  "  I  said. 

"  Oh,  how  happy  we  have  been  together !  " 
she  said. 

"  Yes,  and  shall  be  happier  still,"  I  said. 

And  then  with  more  words  and  signs  of 
love,  too  sacred  even  to  be  written  down,  we 
parted.  It  was  over.  I  looked  back  once, 
and  saw  my  darling  gather  the  child  to  her 
heart,  and  look  up  once  more  at  me.  Then 
I  closed  the  door;  something  seemed  to 
surge  up  in  my  heart  and  overwhelm  me; 
and  then  the  ring  on  my  finger  sent  a  sharp 
pang  through  my  whola  frame,  which  re- 
called me  to  myself.  And  I  say  it  with 
all  the  strength  of  my  spirit,  I  saw  how 
joyful  a  thing  it  was  to  suffer  and  grieve. 
I  came  down  to  the  oak.  The  two  were 
waiting  in  silence,  and  Lucius  seemed  to 
be  in  tears.  Amroth  put  his  arm  through 
mine. 

"  Come,  brother,"  he  said,  "  that  was  a 


340       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

bad  business;  I  won't  pretend  otherwise; 
but  these  things  had  better  come  swiftly." 

"Yes,"  said  Lucius,  "but  it  is  a  cruel 
affair,  and  I  can't  say  otherwise.  Why  can- 
not God  leave  us  alone?  " 

"  Lucius,"  said  Amroth  very  gravely, 
"  here  you  may  say  and  think  as  you  will 
— and  the  thoughts  of  the  heart  are  best 
uttered.     But  one  must  not  blaspheme." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Lucius,  "  I  was  wrong. 
I  ought  not  to  have  spoken  so.  And  indeed 
I  know  in  my  heart  that  somehow^,  far  off, 
it  is  well.  But  I  was  thinking,"  he  said, 
turning  to  me,  and  grasping  my  hand  in 
both  of  his  own,  "  not  of  you,  but  of  Cyn- 
thia. I  am  glad  with  all  my  heart  that  you 
took  her  from  me,  and  have  made  her  happy. 
But  what  miserable  creatures  we  all  are; 
and  how  much  more  miserable  we  should 
be  if  we  were  not  miserable ! " 

And  then  we  started.  It  was  a  dreary 
hour  that,  full  of  deep  and  gnawing  pain. 
I  pictured  to  myself  Cynthia  at  every  mo- 
ment, what  she  was  doing  and  thinking; 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       341 

how  swiftly  the  good  days  had  flown;  how 
perfectly  happy  I  had  been;  and  so  my 
wretched  silent  reverie  went  on. 

"  I  must  say/'  said  Amroth  at  length, 
breaking  a  dismal  silence,  "  that  this  is  very 
tedious.  Can't  you  take  some  interest?  I 
have  very  disagreeable  things  to  do,  but 
that  is  no  reason  why  I  should  be  bored  as 
well ! "  And  he  then  set  himself  to  talk 
with  much  zest  of  all  my  old  friends  and 
companions,  telling  me  how  each  was  faring. 
Charmides,  it  seemed,  had  become  a  very 
accomplished  architect  and  designer;  Philip 
was  a  teacher  at  the  College.  And  he  went 
on  until,  in  spite  of  my  heaviness,  I  felt 
the  whole  of  life  beginning  to  widen  and 
vibrate  all  about  me,  and  a  sense  almost 
of  shame  creeping  into  my  mind  that  I  had 
become  so  oblivious  of  all  the  other  friend- 
ships and  relations  I  had  formed.  I  forced 
myself  to  talk  and  to  ask  questions,  and 
found  myself  walking  more  briskly.  It  was 
not  very  long  before  we  parted  with  Lucius. 
He  was  left  at  the  doors  of  a  great  barrack- 


342       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

like  building,  and  Amroth  told  me  lie  was 
to  be  employed  as  an  officer,  very  much  in 
the  same  way  as  the  young  man  who  was 
sent  to  conduct  me  away  from  the  trial; 
and  I  felt  what  a  good  officer  Lucius  would 
make — smart,  prompt,  polite,  and  not  in 
the  least  sentimental. 

So  we  went  on  together  rather  gloomily ; 
and  then  Amroth  let  me  look  for  a  little 
deep  into  his  heart;  and  I  saw  that  it  was 
filled  with  a  kind  of  noble  pity  for  me  in 
my  suffering;  but  behind  the  pity  lay  that 
blissful  certainty  which  made  Amroth  so 
light-hearted,  that  it  was  just  so,  through 
suffering,  that  one  became  wise;  and  he 
could  no  more  think  of  it  as  irksome  or 
sad  than  a  jolly  undergraduate  thinks  of 
the  training  for  a  race  or  the  rowing  in 
the  race  as  painful,  but  takes  it  all  with 
a  kind  of  high-hearted  zest,  and  finds  even 
the  nervousness  an  exciting  thing,  life  lived 
at  high  pressure  in  a  crowded  hour. 


XXXI 

And  thus  we  came  ourselves  to  a  new  place, 
though  I  took  but  little  note  of  all  we 
passed,  for  my  mind  was  bent  inward  upon 
itself  and  upon  Cynthia.  The  place  was  a 
great  solid  stone  building,  in  many  courts, 
with  fine  tree-shaded  fields  all  about;  a 
school,  it  seemed  to  me,  with  boys  and  girls 
going  in  and  out,  playing  games  together. 
Amroth  told  me  that  children  were  bestowed 
here  who  had  been  of  naturally  fine  and 
frank  dispositions,  but  who  had  lived  their 
life  on  earth  under  foul  and  cramped  con- 
ditions, by  which  they  had  been  fretted 
rather  than  tainted.  It  seemed  a  very 
happy  and  busy  place.  Amroth  took  me 
into  a  great  room  that  seemed  a  sort  of 
library  or  common-room.  There  was  no  one 
there,  and  I  was  glad  to  sit  and  rest ;  when 
suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  a  man  came 

343 


344       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

in  with  outstretched  hands  and  a  smile  of 
welcome.  I  looked  up,  and  it  was  none 
but  the  oldest  and  dearest  friend  of  my 
last  life,  who  had  died  before  me.  He  had 
been  a  teacher,  a  man  of  the  simplest  and 
most  guileless  life,  whose  whole  energy  and 
delight  was  given  to  teaching  and  loving 
the  young.  The  surprising  thing  about  him 
had  always  been  that  he  could  meet  one, 
after  a  long  silence  or  a  suspension  of  in- 
tercourse, as  simply  and  easily  as  if  one 
had  but  left  him  the  day  before ;  and  it  was 
just  the  same  here.  There  was  no  effusive- 
ness of  greeting — we  just  fell  at  once  into 
the  old  familiar  talk. 

"  You  are  just  the  same,''  I  said  to  him, 
looking  at  the  burly  figure,  the  big,  almost 
clumsy,  head,  and  the  irradiating  smile. 
His  great  charm  had  always  been  an  entire 
unworldliness  and  absence  of  ambition. 

He  smiled  at  this  and  said: 

"  Yes,  I  am  afraid  I  am  too  easy-going.'^ 
He  had  never  cared  to  talk  about  himself, 
and  now  he  said,  "  Well,  yes,  I  go  along  in 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn      345 

my  old  prosy  way.  It  is  just  like  the  old 
schooldays,  with  half  the  difficulties  gone. 
Of  course  the  children  are  not  always  good, 
but  that  makes  it  the  more  amusing;  and 
one  can  see  much  more  easily  what  they 
are  thinking  of  and  dreaming  about." 

I  found  myself  telling  him  my  adventures, 
which  he  heard  with  the  same  quiet  atten- 
tion; and  I  was  sure  that  he  would  never 
forget  a  single  point — he  never  forgot  any- 
thing in  the  old  days. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  at  the  end,  "  that 's  a 
wonderful  story.  You  always  had  the 
trouble  of  the  adventures,  and  I  had  the 
fun  of  hearing  them." 

He  asked  me  what  I  was  now  going  to 
do,  and  I  said  that  I  had  not  the  least 
idea. 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  all  right,"  he  said. 

It  was  all  so  comfortable  and  simple,  so 
obvious  indeed,  that  I  laughed  to  think  of 
the  bitter  and  miserable  reveries  I  had  in- 
dulged in  when  he  was  taken  from  me,  and 
when  the  stay  of  my  life  seemed  gone.     The 


34^       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

whole  incident  seemed  to  give  me  back  a 
touch  of  the  serenity  which  I  had  lost,  and 
I  saw  how  beautifully  this  joy  of  meeting 
had  been  planned  for  me,  when  I  wanted 
it  most.  Presently  he  said  that  he  must 
go  off  for  a  lesson,  and  asked  me  to  come 
with  him  and  see  the  children.  We  went 
into  a  big  class-room,  where  some  boys  and 
girls  were  assembling.  Here  he  was  ex- 
actly the  same  as  ever;  no  sentiment,  but 
just  a  kind  of  bluff  paternal  kindness.  The 
lesson  was  most  informal — a  good  deal  of 
questioning  and  answering;  it  was  a  bio- 
graphical lecture,  but  devoted,  I  saw,  in 
a  simple  way,  to  tracing  the  development 
of  the  hero's  character.  "  What  made  him 
do  that?  "  was  a  constant  question.  The 
answers  were  most  ingenious  and  extraor- 
dinarily lively;  but  the  order  was  perfect. 
At  the  end  he  called  up  two  or  three  child- 
ren who  had  shown  some  impatience  or 
jealousy  in  the  lesson,  and  said  a  few  half- 
humorous  words  to  them,  with  an  air  of 
affectionate  interest. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       347 

"They  are  jolly  little  creatures,"  he  said 
when  they  had  all  gone  out. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  with  a  sigh,  "  I  do  indeed 
envy  you.  I  wish  I  could  be  set  to  some- 
thing of  the  kind." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  don't,"  he  said ;  "  this  is 
too  simple  for  you!  You  want  something 
more  artistic  and  more  psychological.  This 
would  bore  you  to  extinction." 

We  walked  all  round  the  place,  saw 
the  games  going  on,  and  were  presently 
joined  by  Amroth,  who  seemed  to  be  on 
terms  of  old  acquaintanceship  with  my 
friend.  I  was  surprised  at  this,  and  he 
said: 

"  Why,  yes,  Amroth  had  the  pleasure  of 
bringing  me  here  too.  Things  are  done 
here  in  groups,  you  know;  and  Amroth 
knows  all  about  our  lot.  It  is  very  well 
organised,  much  better  than  one  perceives 
at  first.  You  remember  how  you  and  I 
drifted  to  school  together,  and  the  set  of 
boys  we  found  ourselves  with — my  word, 
what  young  ruffians  some  of  us  were !    Well, 


348       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

of  course  all  that  had  been  planned,  though 
we  did  not  know  it." 

"  What!  "  said  I ;  "  the  evil  as  well  as  the 
good?  " 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled. 

"  That  is  not  a  very  real  distinction/' 
said  Amroth.  "  Of  course  the  poor  bodies 
got  in  the  way,  as  always;  there  was  some 
fizzing  and  some  precipitation,  as  they  say 
in  chemistry.  But  you  each  of  you  gave 
and  received  just  what  you  were  meant  to 
give  and  receive;  though  these  are  compli- 
cated matters,  like  the  higher  mathematics ; 
and  we  must  not  talk  of  them  to-day.  If 
one  can  escape  the  being  shocked  at  things 
and  yet  be  untainted  by  them,  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  if  one  can  avoid  pomposity  and 
yet  learn  self-respect,  that  is  enough.  But 
you  are  tired  to-day,  and  I  want  you  just 
to  rest  and  be  refreshed." 

Presently  Amroth  asked  me  if  I  should 
like  to  stay  there  awhile,  and  I  most  will- 
ingly consented. 

"  You  want  something  to  do,"  he  said. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       349 

"  and  you  shall  have  some  light  employ- 
ment." 

That  same  day,  before  Amroth  left  me, 
I  had  a  curious  talk  with  him. 

I  said  to  him :  "  Let  me  ask  you  one 
question.  I  had  always  had  a  sort  of  hope 
that  when  I  came  to  the  land  of  spirits,  I 
should  have  a  chance  of  seeing  and  hearing 
something  of  some  of  the  great  souls  of 
earth.  I  had  dimly  imagined  a  sort  of 
reception,  where  one  could  wander  about 
and  listen  to  the  talk  of  the  men  one  had 
admired  and  longed  to  see — Plato,  let  me 
say,  and  Shakespeare,  Walter  Scott,  and 
Shelley — some  of  the  immortals.  But  I 
don't  seem  to  have  seen  anything  of  them 
— only  just  ordinary  and  simple  people." 

Amroth  laughed. 

"  You  do  say  the  most  extraordinarily 
ingenuous  things,"  he  said.  "  In  the  first 
place,  of  course,  we  have  quite  a  different 
scale  of  values  here.  People  do  not  take 
rank  by  their  accomplishments,  but  by  their 
power  of  loving.     Many  of  the  great  men 


350       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

of  earth — and  this  is  particularly  the  case 
with  writers  and  artists — are  absolutely 
nothing  here.  They  had,  it  is  true,  a  fine 
and  delicate  brain,  on  which  they  played 
with  great  skill;  but  half  the  artists  of  the 
world  are  great  as  artists,  simply  because 
they  do  not  care.  They  perceive  and  they 
express ;  but  they  would  not  have  the  heart 
to  do  it  at  all,  if  they  really  cared.  Some 
of  them,  no  doubt,  were  men  of  great  hearts, 
and  they  have  their  place  and  work.  But 
to  claim  to  see  all  the  highest  spirits  to- 
gether is  as  absurd  as  if  you  called  on  a 
doctor  in  London  at  eleven  o'clock  and  ex- 
pected to  meet  all  the  great  physicians  at 
his  house,  intent  on  general  conversation. 
Some  of  the  great  people,  indeed,  you  have 
met,  and  they  were  very  simple  persons 
on  earth.  The  greatest  person  you  have 
hitherto  seen  was  a  butler  on  earth — the 
master  of  your  College.  And  if  it  does  not 
shock  your  aristocratic  susceptibilities  too 
much,  the  President  of  this  place  kept  a 
small  shop  in  a  country  village.     But  one 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       351 

of  the  teachers  here  was  actually  a  marquis 
in  the  world!  Does  that  uplift  you?  He 
teaches  the  little  girls  how  to  play  cricket, 
and  he  is  a  very  good  dancer.  Perhaps  you 
would  like  to  be  introduced  to  him?  " 

"  Don't  treat  me  as  a  child,"  I  said,  rather 
pettishly. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Amroth,  "  it  is  n't  that. 
But  you  are  one  of  those  impressible  peo- 
ple; and  they  always  find  it  harder  to 
disentangle  themselves  from  the  old  ideas." 

I  spent  a  long  and  happy  time  in  the 
school.  I  was  given  a  little  teaching  to  do, 
and  found  it  perfectly  enchanting.  Imag- 
ine children  with  everything  greedy  and 
sensual  gone,  with  none  of  the  crossness  or 
spitefulness  that  comes  of  fatigue  or  pres- 
sure, but  with  all  the  interesting  passions 
of  humanity,  admiration,  keenness,  curi- 
osity, and  even  jealousy,  emulation,  and 
anger,  all  alive  and  active  in  them.  They 
were  not  angelic  children  at  all,  neither 
meek  nor  mild.  But  they  were  generous 
and  affectionate,  and  it  was  easy  to  evoke 


352       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

these  feelings.  The  one  thing  absent  from 
the  whole  place  was  any  touch  of  sentimen- 
tality, which  arises  from  natural  affections 
suppressed  into  a  giggling  kind  of  secrecy. 
They  expressed  affection  loudly  and  frankly, 
just  as  they  expressed  indignation  and  an- 
noyance. All  the  while  I  kept  Cynthia  in 
my  heart;  she  was  ever  before  me  in  a 
thousand  sweet  postures  and  with  innumer- 
able glances.  But  I  saw  much  of  my 
sturdy  and  wholesome-minded  old  friend; 
and  the  sore  pain  of  parting  faded  away 
out  of  my  heart,  and  left  me  with  nothing 
but  the  purest  and  deepest  love,  which 
helped  me  in  all  I  did  or  said,  and  made 
me  patient  and  tender-hearted.  And  thus 
the  period  sped  not  unhappily  away,  though 
I  had  my  times  of  agony  and  despair. 


XXXII 

I  BECAME  aware  at  this  time,  very  gradually 
and  even  solemnly,  that  some  crisis  of  my 
life  was  approaching.  How  the  monition 
came  to  me  I  hardly  know;  I  felt  like  a 
man  wandering  in  the  dark,  with  eyes 
strained  and  hands  outstretched,  who  is 
dimly  aware  of  some  great  object,  tree  or 
haystack  or  house,  looming  up  ahead  of 
him,  which  he  cannot  directly  see,  but  of 
which  he  is  yet  conscious  by  the  vibration 
of  some  sixth  sense.  The  wonder  came  by 
degrees  to  overshadow  my  thoughts  with  a 
sense  of  expectant  awe,  and  to  permeate  all 
the  urgent  concerns  of  my  life  with  its 
shadowy  presence.  Even  the  thought  of 
Cynthia,  who  indeed  was  always  in  my 
mind,  became  obscured  with  the  dimness  of 
this  obscure  anticipation. 

One  day  Amroth  stood  beside  me  as  I 

353 


354       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

worked;  he  was  very  grave  and  serious, 
but  with  a  joyful  kind  of  courage  about 
him.  I  pushed  my  books  and  papers  away, 
and  rose  to  greet  him,  saying  half-uncon- 
sciously,  and  just  putting  my  thought  into 
words : 

"  So  it  has  come ! " 

"Yes,''  said  Amroth,  "it  has  come!  I 
have  known  it  for  some  little  time,  and 
my  thought  has  mingled  with  yours.  I  tell 
you  frankly  that  I  did  not  quite  expect  it ; 
but  one  never  knows  here.  You  must  come 
with  me  at  once.  You  are  to  see  the  last 
mystery;  and  tliough  I  am  glad  for  your 
sake  that  it  is  come,  yet  I  tremble  for  you, 
because  it  is  unlike  any  other  experience; 
and  one  can  never  be  the  same  again." 

I  felt  myself  oppressed  by  a  sudden  terror 
of  darkness,  but,  half  to  reassure  myself,  I 
answered  lightly: 

"  But  it  does  not  seem  to  have  affected 
you,  Amroth!  You  are  always  light- 
hearted  and  cheerful,  and  not  overshadowed 
by  any  dark  or  gloomy  thoughts." 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       355 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Amroth  hurriedly.  "  It 
is  easy  enough,  when  it  is  once  over. 
Nothing  that  is  behind  one  matters;  but 
this  is  a  thing  that  one  cannot  jest  about. 
Of  course  there  is  nothing  to  fear;  but  to 
be  brought  face  to  face  with  the  greatest 
thing  in  the  world  is  not  a  light  matter. 
Let  me  say  this.  I  am  to  be  with  you  all 
through;  and  my  only  word  to  you  is  that 
you  must  do  exactly  what  I  tell  you,  and 
at  once,  without  any  doubting  or  flinching. 
Then  all  will  be  well  I  But  we  must  not 
delay.  Come  at  once,  and  keep  your  mind 
perfectly  quiet." 

We  went  out  together;  and  there  seemed 
to  have  fallen  a  sense  of  gravity  over  all 
whom  we  met.  My  companions  did  not 
speak  to  me  as  we  walked  out,  but  stood 
aside  to  see  me  pass,  and  even  looked  at 
me,  I  thought,  with  an  air  half  of  reverence, 
half  of  a  sort  of  natural  compassion,  as  one 
might  watch  a  dear  friend  go  to  be  tried  for 
his  life. 

We  came  out  of  the  door,  and  found,  it 


356       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

seemed  to  me,  an  unusual  stillness  every- 
where. The  wind,  which  often  blew  high 
on  the  bare  moor,  had  dropped.  We  took 
a  path,  which  I  had  never  seen,  which  struck 
off  over  the  hills.  We  walked  for  a  long 
time,  almost  in  silence.  But  I  could  not 
bear  the  strange  curiosity  which  was  strain- 
ing at  my  heart,  and  I  said  presently  to 
Amroth : 

"  Give  me  some  idea  what  I  am  to  see  or 
to  endure.  Is  it  some  judgment  which  I 
am  to  face,  or  am  I  to  suffer  pain?  I 
would  rather  know  the  best  and  the  worst 
of  it." 

"  It  is  everything,"  said  Amroth ;  "  you 
are  to  see  God.  All  is  comprised  in 
that." 

His  words  fell  with  a  shocking  distinct- 
ness in  the  calm  air,  and  I  felt  my  heart 
and  limbs  fail  me,  and  a  dizziness  came 
over  my  mind.  Hardly  knowing  what  I 
did  or  said,  I  came  to  a  stop. 

"  But  I  did  not  know  that  it  was  pos- 
sible," I  said.     "  I  thought  that  God  was 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       357 

everywhere — within  us,  about  us,  bejond 
us?    How  can  that  be?  '' 

"  Yes,'^  said  Amroth,  "  God  is  indeed 
everywhere,  and  no  place  contains  Him; 
neither  can  any  of  us  see  or  comprehend 
Him.  I  cannot  explain  it;  but  there  is  a 
centre,  so  to  speak,  near  to  which  the  un- 
clean and  the  evil  cannot  come,  where  the 
fire  of  His  thought  burns  the  hottest.  .  .  . 
Oh,"  he  said,  "  neither  word  nor  thought  is 
of  any  use  here;  you  will  see  what  you 
will  see!  " 

Perhaps  the  hardest  thing  I  had  to  bear 
in  all  my  wanderings  was  the  sight  of  Am- 
roth^s  own  fear.  It  was  unmistakable. 
His  spirit  seemed  prepared  for  it,  perfectly 
courageous  and  sincere  as  it  was ;  but  there 
was  a  shuddering  awe  upon  him,  for  all 
that,  which  infected  me  with  an  extremity 
of  terror.  Was  it  that  he  thought  me  un- 
equal to  the  experience?  I  could  not  tell. 
But  we  walked  as  men  dragging  them- 
selves into  some  fiery  and  dreadful  mar- 
tyrdom. 


358       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

Again  I  could  not  bear  it,  and  I  cried 
out  suddenly: 

"  But,  Amroth,  He  is  Love ;  and  we  can 
enter  without  fear  into  the  presence  of 
Love!" 

"  Have  you  not  yet  guessed,"  said  Am- 
roth sternly,  "  how  terrible  Love  can  be? 
It  is  the  most  terrible  thing  in  the  world, 
because  it  is  the  strongest.  If  Death  is 
dreadful,  what  must  that  be  which  is 
stronger  than  Death?  Come,  let  us  be 
silent,  for  we  are  near  the  place,  and  this 
is  no  time  for  words; "  and  then  he  added 
with  a  look  of  the  deepest  compassion  and 
tenderness,  "  I  wish  I  could  speak  dif- 
ferently, brother,  at  this  hour;  but  I  am 
myself  afraid." 

And  at  that  we  gave  up  all  speech,  and 
only  our  thoughts  sprang  together  and  in- 
tertwined, like  two  children  that  clasp  each 
other  close  in  a  burning  house,  when  the 
smoke  comes  volleying  from  the  door. 

We  were  coming  now  to  what  looked  like 
a  ridge  of  rocks  ahead  of  us;  and  I  saw  here 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       359 

a  wonderful  thing,  a  great  light  of  incred- 
ible pureness  and  whiteness,  which  struck 
upwards  from  the  farther  side.  This  be- 
gan to  light  up  our  own  pale  faces,  and  to 
throw  our  backs  into  a  dark  shadow,  even 
though  the  radiance  of  the  heavenly  day 
was  all  about  us.  And  at  last  we  came  to 
the  place. 

It  was  the  edge  of  a  precipice  so  vast,  so 
stupendous,  that  no  word  can  even  dimly 
describe  its  depth;  it  was  all  illuminated 
with  incredible  clearness  by  the  light  which 
struck  upwards  from  below.  It  was  abso- 
lutely sheer,  great  pale  cliffs  of  white  stone 
running  downwards  into  the  depth.  To  left 
and  right  the  precipice  ran,  with  an  ir- 
regular outline,  so  that  one  could  see  the 
cliff-fronts  gleam  how  many  millions  of 
leagues  below !  There  seemed  no  end  to  it. 
But  at  a  certain  point  far  down  in  the 
abyss  the  light  seemed  stronger  and  purer. 
I  was  at  first  so  amazed  by  the  sight  that 
I  gazed  in  silence.  Then  a  dreadful  dizzi- 
ness came  over  me,  and  I  felt  Amroth's 


36o       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

hand  put  round  me  to  sustain  me.  Then 
in  a  faint  whisper,  that  was  almost  in- 
audible, Amroth,  pointing  with  his  finger 
downwards,  said: 

"  Watch  that  place  where  the  light  seems 
clearest." 

1  did  so.  Suddenly  there  came,  as  from 
the  face  of  the  cliff,  a  thing  like  a  cloudy 
jet  of  golden  steam.  It  passed  out  into  the 
clear  air,  shaping  itself  in  strange  and  in- 
tricate curves;  then  it  grew  darker  in 
colour,  hung  for  an  instant  like  a  cloud  of 
smoke,  and  then  faded  into  the  sky. 

"What  is  that?"  I  said,  surprised  out 
of  my  terror. 

"  I  may  tell  you  that,"  said  Amroth, 
"  that  you  may  know  what  you  see.  There 
is  no  time  here;  and  you  have  seen  a  uni- 
verse made,  and  live  its  life,  and  die.  You 
have  seen  the  worlds  created.  That  cloud 
of  whirling  suns,  each  with  its  planets,  has 
taken  shape  before  your  eyes ;  life  has  arisen 
there,  has  developed;  men  like  ourselves 
have  lived,  have  wTestled  with  evil,  have 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       361 

formed  states,  have  died  and  vanished. 
That  is  all  but  a  single  thought  of  God." 

Another  came,  and  then  another  of  the 
golden  jets,  each  fading  into  darkness  and 
dispersing. 

"  And  now,"  said  Amroth,  "  the  moment 
has  come.  You  are  to  make  the  last  sacri- 
fice of  the  soul.  Do  not  shrink  back,  fear 
nothing.     Leap  into  the  abyss !  " 

The  thought  fell  upon  me  with  an  in- 
finity and  an  incredulity  of  horror  that  1 
cannot  express  in  words.  I  covered  my 
eyes  with  my  hands. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot,  I  cannot,"  I  said ;  "  any- 
thing but  this!  God  be  merciful;  let  me 
go  rather  to  some  infinite  place  of  torment 
where  at  least  I  may  feel  myself  alive.  Do 
not  ask  this  of  me!  " 

Amroth  made  no  answer,  and  I  saw  that 
he  was  regarding  me  fixedly,  himself  pale 
to  the  lips;  but  with  a  touch  of  anger  and 
even  of  contempt,  mixed  with  a  world  of 
compassion  and  love.  There  was  something 
in  this  look  which  seemed  to  entreat  me 


362       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

mutely  for  my  own  sake  and  his  own  to 
act.  I  do  not  know  what  the  impulse  was 
that  came  to  me — self-contempt,  trust,  curi- 
osity, the  yearning  of  love.  I  closed  my 
eyes,  I  took  a  faltering  step,  and  stumbled, 
huddling  and  aghast,  over  the  edge.  The 
air  flew  up  past  me  with  a  sort  of  shriek; 
I  opened  my  eyes  once,  and  saw  the  white 
cliffs  speeding  past.  Then  an  unconscious- 
ness came  over  me  and  I  knew  no  mora 


XXXIII 

I  CAME  to  myself  very  gradually  and  dimly, 
with  no  recollection  at  first  of  what  had 
happened.  I  was  lying  on  my  back  on  some 
soft  5^Tassy  place,  with  the  air  blowing  cool 
over  me.  I  thought  I  saw  Amroth  bend- 
ing over  me  with  a  look  of  extraordinary 
happiness,  and  felt  his  arm  about  me;  but 
again  I  became  unconscious,  yet  all  the 
time  with  a  blissfulness  of  repose  and  joy, 
far  beyond  what  I  had  experienced  at  my 
first  waking  on  the  sunlit  sea.  Again  life 
dawned  upon  me.  I  was  there,  I  was  my- 
self. What  had  happened  to  me?  I  could 
not  tell.  So  I  lay  for  a  long  time  half 
dreaming  and  half  swooning;  till  at  last 
life  seemed  to  come  back  suddenly  to  me, 
and  I  sat  up.  Amroth  was  holding  me  in 
his  arms  close  to  the  spot  from  which  I 
had  sprung. 

"  Have  I  been  dreaming?  "  I  said.    "  Was 
363 


364       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

it  here?  and  when?  I  cannot  remember. 
It  seems  impossible,  but  was  I  told  to  jump 
down?  What  has  happened  to  me?  I  am 
confused." 

"  You  will  know  presently,"  said  Am- 
roth,  in  a  tone  from  which  all  the  fear 
seemed  to  have  vanished.  "  It  is  all  over, 
and  I  am  thankful.  Do  not  try  to  recol- 
lect; it  will  come  back  to  you  presently. 
Just  rest  now;  you  have  been  through 
strange  things." 

Suddenly  a  thought  began  to  shape  itself 
in  my  mind,  a  thought  of  perfect  and 
irresistible  joy. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  remember  now.  We 
were  afraid,  both  of  us,  and  you  told  me 
to  leap  down.  But  what  was  it  that  I  saw, 
and  what  was  it  that  was  told  me?  I  can- 
not recall  it.  Oh,"  I  said  at  last,  "  I  know 
now;  it  comes  back  to  me.  I  fell,  in  hid- 
eous cowardice  and  misery.  The  wind  blew 
shrill.  I  saw  the  cliffs  stream  past;  then 
I  was  unconscious,  I  think.  I  seem  to  have 
died;  but  part  of  me  was  not  dead.     My 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       365 

flight  was  stayed,  and  I  floated  out  some- 
where. I  was  joined  to  something  that 
was  like  both  fire  and  water  in  one.  I  was 
seen  and  known  and  understood  and  loved, 
perfectly  and  unutterably  and  for  ever. 
But  there  was  pain,  somewhere,  Amroth! 
How  was  that?    I  am  sure  there  was  pain.'^ 

"  Of  course,  dear  child,"  said  Amroth, 
"  there  was  pain,  because  there  was  every- 
thing." 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  I  cannot  understand 
yet;  why  was  that  terrible  leap  demanded 
of  me?  And  w^hy  did  I  confront  it  with 
such  abject  cowardice  and  dismay?  Surely 
one  need  not  go  stumbling  and  cowed  into 
the  presence  of  God?  " 

"There  is  no  other  way,"  said  Amroth; 
"you  do  not  understand  how  terrible  per- 
fect love  is.  It  is  because  it  is  perfect  that 
it  is  terrible.  Our  own  imperfect  love  has 
some  weakness  in  it.  It  is  mixed  with 
pleasure,  and  then  it  is  not  a  sacrifice;  one 
gives  as  much  of  oneself  as  one  chooses; 
one  is  known  just  so  far  as  one  wishes  to 


366       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

be  known.  But  here  with  God  there  must 
be  no  concealment — though  even  there  a 
man  can  withhold  his  heart  from  God — 
God  never  uses  compulsion;  and  the  will 
can  prevail  even  against  Him.  But  the 
reason  of  the  leap  that  must  be  taken  is 
this :  it  is  the  last  surrender,  and  it  cannot 
be  made  on  our  terms  and  conditions;  it 
must  be  absolute.  And  what  I  feared  for 
you  was  not  anything  that  would  happen 
if  you  did  commit  yourself  to  God,  but  what 
would  happen  if  you  did  not ;  for,  of  course, 
you  could  have  resisted,  and  then  you  would 
have  had  to  begin  again." 

I  was  silent  for  a  little,  and  then  I  said  : 
"  I  remember  now  more  clearly,  but  did 
I  really  see  Him?  It  seems  so  absolutely 
simple.  Nothing  happened.  I  just  be- 
came one  with  the  heart  and  life  of  the 
world;  I  came  home  at  last.  Yet  how  am 
I  here?  How  is  it  I  was  not  merged  in 
light  and  life?" 

"  Ah,"  said  Amroth,  "  it  is  the  new  birth. 
You  can  never  be  the  same  again.     But 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       367 

you  are  not  yet  lost  in  Him.  The  time  for 
that  is  not  yet.  It  is  a  mystery;  but  as 
yet  God  works  outward,  radiates  energy 
and  force  and  love;  the  time  will  come 
when  all  will  draw  inward  again,  and  be 
merged  in  Him.  But  the  world  is  as  yet 
in  its  dawning.  The  rising  sun  scatters 
light  and  heat,  and  the  hot  and  silent  noon 
is  yet  to  come ;  then  the  shadows  move  east- 
ward, and  after  that  comes  the  waning  sun- 
set and  the  evening  light,  and  last  of  all 
the  huge  and  starlit  peace  of  the  night." 

"But,"  I  said,  "if  this  is  really  so,  if 
I  have  been  gathered  close  to  God's  heart, 
why  is  it  that  instead  of  feeling  stronger, 
I  only  feel  weak  and  unstrung?  I  have 
indeed  an  inner  sense  of  peace  and  happi- 
ness, but  I  have  no  will  or  purpose  of  my 
own  that  I  can  discern." 

"  That,"  said  Amroth,  "  is  because  you 
have  given  up  all.  The  sense  of  strength 
is  part  of  our  weakness.  Our  plans,  our 
schemes,  our  ambitions,  all  the  things  that 
make  us  enjoy  and  hope  and  arrange,  are 


368       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

but  signs  of  our  incompleteness.  Your  will 
is  still  as  molten  metal,  it  has  borne  the 
fierce  heat  of  inner  love ;  and  this  has  taken 
all  that  is  hard  and  stubborn  and  com- 
placent out  of  you — for  a  time.  But  when 
you  return  to  the  life  of  the  body,  as  you 
will  return,  there  will  be  this  great  dif- 
ference in  you.  You  will  have  to  toil  and 
suffer,  and  even  sin.  But  there  will  be  one 
thing  that  you  will  not  do :  you  will  never 
be  complacent  or  self-righteous,  you  will 
not  judge  others  hardly.  You  will  be  able 
to  forgive  and  to  make  allowances;  you  will 
concern  yourself  with  loving  others,  not 
with  trying  to  improve  them  up  to  your 
own  standard.  You  will  wish  them  to  be 
different,  but  you  will  not  condemn  them 
for  being  different;  and  hereafter  the  lives 
you  live  on  earth  will  be  of  the  humblest. 
You  will  have  none  of  the  temptations  of 
authority,  or  influence,  or  ambition  again 
— all  that  will  be  far  behind  you.  You  will 
live  among  the  poor,  you  will  do  the  most 
menial    and    commonplace    drudgery,    you 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       369 

■will  have  none  of  the  delights  of  life.  Yon 
will  be  despised  and  contemned  for  being- 
ugly  and  humble  and  serviceable  and  meek. 
You  will  be  one  of  those  who  will  be  thought 
to  have  no  spirit  to  rise,  no  power  of  mak- 
ing men  serve  your  turn.  You  will  miss 
what  are  called  your  chances,  you  will  be 
a  failure ;  but  you  will  be  trusted  and  loved 
by  children  and  simple  people;  they  will 
depend  upon  you,  and  you  will  make  the 
atmosphere  in  which  you  live  one  of  peace 
and  joy.  You  will  have  selfish  employers, 
tyrannical  masters,  thankless  children  per- 
haps, for  whom  you  will  slave  lovingly. 
They  will  slight  you  and  even  despise  you, 
but  their  hearts  will  turn  to  you  again  and 
again,  and  yours  will  be  the  face  that  they 
will  remember  when  they  come  to  die,  as 
that  of  the  one  person  who  loved  them  truly 
and  unquestioningly.  That  will  be  your 
destiny ;  one  of  utter  obscurity  and  nothing- 
ness upon  earth.  Yet  each  time,  when  you 
return  hither,  your  work  will  be  higher  and 
holier,   and  nearer  to   the  heart  of  God. 


370       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

And  now  I  have  said  enough ;  for  you  have 
seen  God,  as  I  too  saw  Him  long  ago;  and 
our  hope  is  henceforward  the  same." 

"  Yes,"  I  said  to  Amroth,  "  I  am  content. 
1  had  thought  that  I  should  be  exalted  and 
elated  by  my  privileges;  but  I  have  no 
thought  or  dream  of  that.  I  only  desire  to 
go  where  I  am  sent,  to  do  what  is  desired 
of  me.     I  have  laid  my  burden  down." 


XXXIV 

Presently  Amrotli  rose,  and  said  that  we 
must  be  going  onward. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  "  I  have  a  further 
thing  to  tell  you,  and  that  is  that  I  have 
very  soon  to  leave  you.  To  bring  you 
hither  was  the  last  of  my  appointed  tasks, 
and  my  work  is  now  done.  It  is  strange 
to  remember  how  I  bore  you  in  my  arms 
out  of  life,  like  a  little  sleeping  child,  and 
how  much  we  have  been  together.'' 

"  Do  not  leave  me  now,"  I  said  to  Am- 
roth.  "  There  seems  so  much  that  I  have 
to  ask  you.  And  if  your  work  with  me  is 
done,  where  are  you  now  going?  " 

"  Where  am  I  going,  brother?  "  said  Am- 
roth.  "  Back  to  life  again,  and  immediately. 
And  there  is  one  thing  more  that  is  per- 
mitted, and  that  is  that  you  should  be  with 
me  to  the  last.  Strange  that  I  should  have 
371 


372       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

attended  you  here,  to  the  very  crown  and 
sum  of  life,  and  that  you  should  now  attend 
me  where  I  am  going  I    But  so  it  is." 

"And  what  do  you  feel  about  it?"  I 
said. 

"Oh,"  said  Amroth,  "I  do  not  like  it, 
of  course.  To  be  so  free  and  active  here, 
and  to  be  bound  again  in  the  body,  in  the 
close,  suffering,  ill-savoured  house  of  life! 
But  I  have  much  to  gain  by  it.  I  have  a 
sharpness  of  temper  and  a  peremptoriness 
— of  which  indeed,"  he  said,  smiling,  "you 
have  had  experience.  I  am  fond  of  doing 
things  in  my  own  way,  inconsiderate  of 
others,  and  impatient  if  they  do  not  go 
right.  I  am  hard,  and  perhaps  even  vulgar. 
But  now  I  am  going  like  a  board  to  the 
carpenter,  to  have  some  of  my  roughness 
planed  out  of  me,  and  I  hope  to  do  better." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  am  too  full  of  wonder 
and  hope  just  now  to  be  alai:med  for  you. 
I  could  even  wish  I  were  myself  departing. 
But  I  have  a  desire  to  see  Cynthia  again." 

"  Yes,"  said  Amroth,  "  and  you  will  see 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       373 

her;  but  you  will  not  be  long  after  me, 
brother ;  comfort  yourself  with  that !  " 

We  walked  a  little  farther  across  the 
moorland,  talking  softly  at  intervals,  till 
suddenly  I  discerned  a  solitary  figure  which 
was  approaching  us  swiftly. 

"Ah,"  said  Amroth,  "my  time  has  in- 
deed come.     I  am  summoned." 

He  waved  his  hand  to  the  man,  who  came 
up  quickly  and  even  breathlessly,  and 
handed  Amroth  a  sealed  paper.  Amroth 
tore  it  open,  read  it  smilingly,  gave  a  nod 
to  the  officer,  saying  "  Many  thanks."  The 
officer  saluted  him;  he  was  a  brisk  young 
man,  with  a  fresh  air;  and  he  then,  without 
a  word,  turned  from  us  and  went  over  the 
moorland. 

"Come,"  said  Amroth,  "let  us  descend. 
You  can  do  this  for  yourself  now;  you  do 
not  need  my  help."  He  took  my  hand,  and 
a  mist  enveloped  us.  Suddenly  the  mist 
broke  up  and  streamed  away.  I  looked 
round  me  in  curiosity. 

We  were  standing  in  a  very  mean  street 


374       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

of  brick-built  houses,  with  slated  roofs;  over 
the  roofs  we  could  see  a  spire,  and  the  chim- 
neys of  mills,  spouting  smoke.  The  houses 
had  tiny  smoke-dried  gardens  in  front  of 
them.  At  the  end  of  the  street  was  an  ugly, 
ill-tended  field,  on  which  much  rubbish  lay. 
There  were  some  dirty  children  playing 
about,  and  a  few  women,  with  shawls  over 
their  heads,  were  standing  together  watch- 
ing a  house  opposite.  The  window  of  an 
upper  room  was  open,  and  out  of  it  came 
cries  and  moans. 

"  It 's  going  very  badly  with  her,"  said 
one  of  the  women,  "  poor  soul ;  but  the 
doctor  will  be  here  soon.  She  was  about 
this  morning  too.  I  had  a  word  with  her, 
and  she  was  feeling  very  bad.  I  said  she 
ought  to  be  in  bed,  but  she  said  she  had 
her  work  to  do  first.'' 

The  women  glanced  at  the  window  with 
a  hushed  sort  of  sympathy.  A  young 
woman,  evidently  soon  to  become  a  mother, 
looked  pale  and  apprehensive. 

"  Will  she  get  through?  "  she  said  timidly. 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn      375 

"  Oh,  don't  you  fear,  Sarah,"  said  one  of 
the  women,  kindly  enough.  "  She  will  be 
all  right.  Bless  you,  I  've  been  through  it 
five  times  myself,  and  I  am  none  the  worse. 
And  when  it 's  over  she  '11  be  as  comfort- 
able as  never  was.  It  seems  worth  it 
then." 

A  man  suddenly  turned  the  comer  of 
the  street ;  he  was  dressed  in  a  shabby  over- 
coat with  a  bowler  hat,  and  he  carried  a 
bag  in  his  hand.  He  came  past  us.  He 
looked  a  busy,  overtried  man,  but  he  had 
a  good-humoured  air.  He  nodded  pleas- 
antly to  the  women.     One  said: 

"  You  are  wanted  badly  in  there,  doctor." 

"  Yes,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "  I  am  making 
all  the  haste  I  can.     Where's  John?" 

"  Oh,  he 's  at  work,"  said  the  woman. 
"He  didn't  expect  it  to-day.  But  he's 
better  out  of  the  way:  he'd  be  no  good; 
he'd  only  be  interfering  and  grumbling; 
but  I  '11  come  across  with  you,  and  when 
it 's  over,  I  '11  just  run  down  and  tell  him." 

"  That 's  right,"  said  the  doctor,  "  come 


376       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

along — the  nurse  will  be  round  in  a  minute ; 
and  I  can  make  things  easy  meantime." 

Strange  to  say,  it  had  hardly  dawned 
upon  me  what  was  happening.  I  turned 
to  Amroth,  who  stood  there  smiling,  but  a 
little  pale,  his  arm  in  mine;  fresh  and  up- 
right, with  his  slim  and  graceful  limbs,  his 
bright  curled  hair,  a  strange  contrast  to 
the  slatternly  women  and  the  heavily-built 
doctor. 

"  So  this,"  he  said,  "  is  where  I  am  to 
spend  a  few  years ;  my  new  father  is  a  hard- 
working man,  I  believe,  perhaps  a  little 
given  to  drink  but  kind  enough ;  and  I  dare- 
say some  of  these  children  are  my  brothers 
and  sisters.  A  score  of  years  or  more  to 
spend  here,  no  doubt!  Well,  it  might  be 
worse.  You  will  think  of  me  while  you 
can,  and  if  you  have  the  time,  you  may  pay 
me  a  visit,  though  I  don't  suppose  I  shall 
recognise  you." 

"  It  seems  rather  dreadful  to  me,"  said 
I,  "  I  must  confess !  Who  w  ould  have 
thought  that  I  should  have  forgotten  my 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       377 

visions  so  soon?  Amrotb,  dear,  I  can't 
bear  this — that  you  should  suffer  such  a 
change.'' 

"  Sentiment  again,  brother,"  said  Am- 
roth.  "  To  me  it  is  curious  and  interesting, 
even  exciting.  Well,  good-bye;  my  time  is 
just  up,  I  think." 

The  doctor  had  gone  into  the  house,  and 
the  cries  died  away.  A  moment  after  a 
woman  in  the  dress  of  a  nurse  came  quickly 
along  the  street,  knocked,  opened  the  door, 
and  went  in.  I  could  see  into  the  room,  a 
poorly  furnished  one.  A  girl  sat  nursing 
a  baby  by  the  fire,  and  looked  very  much 
frightened.  A  little  boy  played  in  the 
corner.  A  woman  was  bustling  about,  mak- 
ing some  preparations  for  a  meal. 

"  Let  me  do  you  the  honours  of  my  new 
establishment,"  said  Amroth  with  a  smile. 
"  No,  dear  man,  don't  go  with  me  any 
farther.  We  will  part  here,  and  when  we 
meet  again  we  shall  have  some  new  stories 
to  tell.  Bless  you."  He  took  his  hand 
from  my  arm,  caught  up  my  hand,  kissed 


378       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

it,  said,  "  There,  that  is  for  you,"  and 
disappeared  smiling  into  the  house. 

A  moment  later  there  came  the  cry  of 
a  new-born  child  from  the  window  above. 
The  doctor  came  out  and  went  down  the 
street;  one  of  the  women  joined  him  and 
walked  with  him.  A  few  minutes  later  she 
returned  with  a  young  and  sturdy  work- 
man, looking  rather  anxious. 

"  It 's  all  right,"  I  heard  her  say,  "  it 's 
a  fine  boy,  and  Annie  is  doing  well — she  '11 
be  about  again  soon  enough." 

They  disappeared  into  the  house,  and  I 
turned  away. 


XXXV 

It  is  difficult  to  describe  the  strange  emo- 
tions with  which  the  departure  of  Am- 
roth  filled  me.  I  think  that,  when  I  first 
entered  the  heavenly  country,  the  strongest 
feeling  I  experienced  was  the  sense  of 
security — the  thought  that  the  earthly  life 
was  over  and  done  with,  and  that  there  re- 
mained the  rest  and  tranquillity  of  heaven. 
What  I  cannot  even  now  understand  is  this. 
I  am  dimly  aware  that  I  have  lived  a  great 
series  of  lives,  in  each  of  which  I  have  had 
to  exist  blindly,  not  knowing  that  my  life 
was  not  bounded  and  terminated  by  death, 
and  only  darkly  guessing  and  hoping,  in 
passionate  glimpses,  that  there  might  be  a 
permanent  life  of  the  soul  behind  the  life 
of  the  body.  And  yet,  at  first,  on  entering 
the  heavenly  country,  I  did  not  remember 
having  entered  it  before ;  it  was  not  familiar 
379 


38o       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

to  me,  nor  did  I  at  first  recall  in  memory 
that  I  liad  been  there  before.  The  earthly 
life  seems  to  obliterate  for  a  time  even  the 
heavenly  memory.  But  the  departure  of 
Amroth  swept  away  once  and  for  all  the 
sense  of  security.  One  felt  of  the  earthly 
life,  indeed,  as  a  busy  man  may  think  of  a 
troublesome  visit  he  has  to  pay,  which 
breaks  across  the  normal  current  of  his 
life,  while  he  anticipates  with  pleasure  his 
return  to  the  usual  activities  of  home  across 
the  interval  of  social  distraction,  which  he 
does  not  exactly  desire,  but  yet  is  glad  that 
it  should  intervene,  if  only  for  the  height- 
ened sense  of  delight  with  which  he  will 
resume  his  real  life.  I  had  been  happy  in 
heaven,  though  with  periods  of  discontent 
and  moments  of  dismay.  But  I  no  longer 
desired  a  dreamful  ease;  I  only  wished  pas- 
sionately to  be  employed.  And  now  I  saw 
that  I  must  resign  all  expectation  of  that 
As  so  often  happens,  both  on  earth  and  in 
heaven,  I  had  found  something  of  whicli  T 
was  not  in  search,  while  the  work  which  I 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       381 

had  estimated  so  highly,  and  prepared  my- 
self so  ardently  for,  had  never  been  given 
to  me  to  do  at  all. 

But  for  the  moment  I  had  but  one  single 
thought.  I  was  to  see  Cynthia  again,  and 
I  might  then  expect  my  own  summons  to 
return  to  life.  What  surprised  me,  on  look- 
ing back  at  my  present  sojourn,  was  the 
extreme  apparent  fortuitousness  of  it.  It 
had  not  been  seemingly  organised  or  laid 
out  on  any  plan ;  and  yet  it  had  shown  me 
this,  that  my  own  intentions  and  desires 
counted  for  nothing.  I  had  meant  to  work, 
and  I  had  been  mostly  idle;  I  had  intended 
to  study  psychology,  and  I  had  found  love. 
How  much  wiser  and  deeper  it  had  all  been 
than  anything  which  I  had  designed ! 

Even  now  I  was  uncertain  how  to  find 
Cynthia.  But  recollecting  that  Amroth 
had  w^amed  me  that  I  had  gained  new 
powers  which  I  might  exercise,  I  set  my- 
self to  use  them.  I  concentrated  myself 
upon  the  thought  of  Cynthia;  and  in  a 
moment,  just  as  the  hand  of  a  man  in  a 


382       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

dark  room,  feeling  for  some  familiar  ob- 
ject, encounters  and  closes  upon  the  thing 
he  is  seeking,  I  seemed  to  touch  and  em- 
brace the  thought  of  Cynthia.  I  directed 
myself  thither.  The  breeze  fanned  my 
hair,  and  as  I  opened  my  eyes  I  saw 
that  I  was  in  an  unfamiliar  place — not  the 
forest  where  I  had  left  Cynthia,  but  in  a 
terraced  garden,  under  a  great  hill,  wooded 
to  the  peak.  Stone  steps  ran  up  through 
the  terraces,  the  topmost  of  which  was 
crowned  by  a  long  irregular  building,  very 
quaintly  designed.  I  went  up  the  steps, 
and,  looking  about  me,  caught  sight  of  two 
figures  seated  on  a  wooden  seat  at  a  little 
distance  from  me,  overlooking  the  valley. 
One  of  these  was  Cynthia.  The  other  was 
a  young  and  beautiful  woman;  the  two 
were  talking  earnestly  together.  Suddenly 
Cynthia  turned  and  saw  me,  and  rising 
quickly,  came  to  me  and  caught  me  in  her 
arms. 

"  I  was  sure  you  were  somewhere  near 
me,  dearest,- '  she  said ;  "  I  dreamed  of  you 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       383 

last  night,  and  you  have  been  in  my 
thoughts  all  day.'^ 

My  darling  was  in  some  way  altered. 
She  looked  older,  wiser,  and  calmer,  but 
she  was  in  my  eyes  even  more  beautiful. 
The  other  girl,  who  had  looked  at  us  in 
surprise  for  a  moment,  rose  too  and  came 
shyly  forwards.  Cynthia  caught  her  hand, 
and  presented  her  to  me,  adding,  "  And 
now  you  must  leave  us  alone  for  a  little, 
if  you  will  forgive  me  for  asking  it,  for 
we  have  much  to  ask  and  to  say." 

The  girl  smiled  and  went  off,  looking 
back  at  us,  I  thought,  half-enviously. 

We  went  and  sat  down  on  the  seat,  and 
Cynthia  said: 

"  Something  has  happened  to  you,  dear 
one,  I  see,  since  I  saw  you  last — something 
great  and  glorious.'' 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  you  are  right ;  I  have 
seen  the  beginning  and  the  end ;  and  I  have 
not  yet  learned  to  understand  it.  But  I 
am  the  same,  Cynthia,  and  yours  utterly. 
We  will  speak  of  this  later.     Tell  me  first 


384       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

what  has  happened  to  you,  and  what  this 
place  is.  I  will  not  waste  time  in  talk- 
ing; I  want  to  hear  you  talk  and  to  see 
you  talk.  How  often  have  I  longed  for 
that!" 

Cynthia  took  my  hand  in  both  of  her 
own,  and  then  unfolded  to  me  her  story. 
She  had  lived  long  in  the  forest,  alone  with 
the  child,  and  then  the  day  had  come  when 
the  desire  to  go  farther  had  arisen  in  his 
mind,  and  he  had  left  her,  and  she  had 
felt  strangely  desolate,  till  she  too  had  been 
summoned. 

"  And  this  place — how  can  I  describe  it?  ■' 
she  said.  "  It  is  a  home  for  spirits  who 
have  desired  love  on  earth,  and  who  yet, 
from  some  accident  of  circumstance,  have 
never  found  one  to  love  them  with  any  in- 
timacy of  passion.  How  strange  it  is  to 
think,"  she  went  on,  "  that  I,  just  by  the 
inheritance  of  beauty,  was  surrounded  with 
love  and  the  wrong  sort  of  love,  so  that  1 
never  learned  to  love  rightly  and  truly; 
while   so   many,   just  from   some   lack   of 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       385 

beauty,  some  homeliness  or  ungainliness  of 
feature  or  carriage,  missed  the  one  kind 
of  love  that  would  have  sustained  and  fed 
them — have  never  been  held  in  a  lover's 
arms,  or  held  a  child  of  their  own  against 
their  heart.  And  so,"  she  went  on  smiling, 
"  many  of  them  lavished  their  tenderness 
upon  animals  or  crafty  servants  or  selfish 
relations;  and  grew  old  and  fanciful  and 
petulant  before  their  time.  It  seems  a  sad 
waste  of  life  that!  Because  so  many  of 
them  are  spirits  that  could  have  loved 
finely  and  devotedly  all  the  time.  But 
here,"  she  said,  "  they  unlearn  their  ca- 
prices, and  live  a  life  by  strict  rule — and 
they  go  out  hence  to  have  the  care  of 
children,  or  to  tend  broken  lives  into  tran- 
quillity— and  some  of  them,  nay  most  of 
them,  find  heavenly  lovers  of  their  own. 
They  are  odd,  fractious  people  at  first, 
curiously  concerned  about  health  and  oc- 
cupation ;  and  one  can  often  do  nothing  but 
listen  to  their  complaints.  But  they  find 
their  way  out  in  time,  and  one  can  help 

25 


386        The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

tliem  a  little,  as  soon  as  they  begin  to  de- 
sire to  hear  something  of  other  lives  but 
their  own.  They  have  to  learn  to  turn  love 
outwards  instead  of  inwards;  just  as  I,'* 
she  added  laughing,  "  had  to  turn  my  own 
love  inwards  instead  of  outwards." 

Then  I  told  Cynthia  what  I  could  tell 
of  my  own  experiences,  and  she  heard  them 
with  astonishment.     Then  I  said: 

"  What  surprises  me  about  it,  is  that  I 
seem  somehow  to  have  been  given  more 
than  I  can  hold.  I  have  a  very  shallow 
and  trivial  nature,  like  a  stream  that 
sparkles  pleasantly  enough  over  a  pebbly 
bottom,  but  in  which  no  boat  or  man  can 
swim.  I  have  always  been  absorbed  in  the 
observation  of  details  and  in  the  outside  of 
things.  I  spent  so  much  energy  in  watch- 
ing the  faces  and  gestures  and  utterances 
and  tricks  of  those  about  me  that  I  never 
had  the  leisure  to  look  into  their  hearts. 
And  now  these  great  depths  have  opened 
before  me,  and  I  feel  more  childish  and 
feeble  than  ever,  like  a  frail  glass  which 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn'      387 

holds  a  most  precious  liquor,  and  gains 
brightness  and  glory  from  the  hues  of  the 
wine  it  holds,  but  is  not  like  the  gem, 
compact  of  colour  and  radiance." 

Cynthia  laughed  at  me. 

"At  all  events,  you  have  not  forgotten 
how  to  make  metaphors,"  she  said. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  that  is  part  of  the  mis- 
chief, that  I  see  the  likenesses  of  things  and 
not  their  essences."  At  which  she  laughed 
again  more  softly,  and  rested  her  cheek  on 
my  shoulder. 

Then  I  told  her  of  the  departure  of 
Amroth. 

"  That  is  wonderful,"  she  said. 

And  then  I  told  her  of  my  own  approach- 
ing departure,  at  which  she  grew  sad  for 
a  moment.  Then  she  said,  "  But  come,  let 
us  not  waste  time  in  forebodings.  Will 
you  come  with  me  into  the  house  to  see 
the  likenesses  of  things,  or  shall  we  have 
an  hour  alone  together,  and  try  to  look 
into  essences?  " 

I  caught  her  by  the  hand. 


388       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  I  care  no  more  about  the 
machinery  of  these  institutions.  I  am  the 
pilgrim  of  love,  and  not  the  student  of 
organisations.  If  you  may  quit  your  task, 
and  leave  your  ladies  to  regretful  memories 
of  their  lap-dogs,  let  us  go  out  together  for 
a  little,  and  say  what  we  can — for  I  am 
sure  that  my  time  is  approaching." 

Cynthia  smiled  and  left  me,  and  returned 
running;  and  then  we  rambled  off  together, 
up  the  steep  paths  of  the  woodland,  to  the 
mountain-top,  from  which  we  had  a  wide 
prospect  of  the  heavenly  country,  a  great 
blue  well-watered  plain  lying  out  for 
leagues  before  us,  with  the  shapes  of  mys- 
terious mountains  in  the  distance.  But  I 
can  give  no  account  of  all  we  said  or  did, 
for  heart  mingled  with  heart,  and  there  was 
little  need  of  speech.  And  even  so,  in  those 
last  sweet  hours,  I  could  not  help  marvel- 
ling at  how  utterly  different  Cynthia's 
heart  and  mind  were  from  my  own;  even 
then  it  was  a  constant  shock  of  surprise 
that  we  should  understand  each  other  so 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       389 

perfectly,  and  yet  feel  so  differently  about 
so  much.  It  seemed  to  me  that,  even  after 
all  I  had  seen  and  suffered,  my  heart  was 
still  bent  on  taking  and  Cynthia's  on  giv- 
ing. I  seemed  to  see  my  own  heart  through 
Cynthia's,  while  she  appeared  to  see  mine 
but  through  her  own.  We  spoke  of  our  ex- 
periences, and  of  our  many  friends,  now 
hidden  from  us — and  at  last  we  spoke  of 
Lucius.     And  then  Cynthia  said : 

"  It  is  strange,  dearest,  that  now  and  then 
there  should  yet  remain  any  doubt  at  all 
in  my  mind  about  your  wish  or  desire ;  but 
I  must  speak;  and  before  I  speak,  I  will 
say  that  whatever  you  desire,  I  will  do. 
But  I  think  that  Lucius  has  need  of  me, 
and  I  am  his,  in  a  way  which  I  cannot  de- 
scribe. He  is  halting  now  in  his  way,  and 
he  is  unhappy  because  his  life  is  incom- 
plete.    May  I  help  him?  " 

At  this  there  struck  through  me  a  sharp 
and  jealous  pang;  and  a  dark  cloud  seemed 
to  float  across  my  mind  for  a  moment.  But 
I   set  all   aside,   and   thought   for  an   in- 


390       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

stant  of  the  vision  of  God.  And  then  I 
said: 

"  Yes,  Cynthia !  I  had  wondered  too ;  and 
it  seems  perhaps  like  the  last  taint  of  earth, 
that  I  would,  as  it  were,  condemn  you  to 
a  sort  of  widowhood  of  love  when  I  am 
gone.  But  you  must  follow  your  own 
heart,  and  its  pure  and  sweet  advice,  and 
the  Will  of  Love;  and  you  must  use  your 
treasure,  not  hoard  it  for  me  in  solitude. 
Dearest,  I  trust  you  and  worship  you 
utterly  and  entirely.  It  is  through  you  and 
your  love  that  I  have  found  my  way  to  the 
heart  of  God;  and  if  indeed  you  can  take 
another  heart  thither,  you  must  do  it  for 
love's  own  sake."  And  after  this  we  were 
silent  for  a  long  space,  heart  blending 
wholly  with  heart. 

Then  suddenly  I  became  aware  that  some 
one  was  coming  up  through  the  wood,  to 
the  rocks  where  we  sat:  and  Cynthia  clung 
close  to  me,  and  I  knew  that  she  was  sor- 
rowful to  death.  And  then  I  saw  Lucius 
come  up  out  of  the  wood,  and  halt  for  a 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       391 

moment  at  the  sight  of  us  together.  Then 
he  came  on  almost  reverently,  and  I  saw 
that  he  carried  in  his  hand  a  sealed  paper 
like  that  which  had  been  given  to  Amroth ; 
and  I  read  it  and  found  my  summons 
written. 

Then  while  Lucius  stood  beside  me,  with 
his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  I  said : 

"  I  must  go  in  haste ;  and  I  have  but  one 
thing  to  do.  We  have  spoken,  Cynthia  and 
I,  of  the  love  you  have  long  borne  her ;  and 
she  is  yours  now,  to  comfort  and  lead  you 
as  she  has  led  and  comforted  me.  This  is 
the  last  sacrifice  of  love,  to  give  up  love 
itself;  and  this  I  do  very  willingly  for  the 
sake  of  Him  that  loves  us:  and  here,"  I 
said,  "  is  a  strange  thing,  that  at  the  very 
crown  and  summit  of  life,  for  I  am  sure 
that  this  is  so,  we  should  be  three  hearts, 
so  full  of  love,  and  yet  so  sorrowing  and 
suffering  as  we  are.  Is  pain  indeed  the 
end  of  all?  " 

"  No,"  said  Cynthia,  "  it  is  not  the  end, 
and  yet  only  by  it  can  we  measure  the  depth 


392       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

and  height  of  love.  If  we  look  into  our 
hearts,  we  know  that  in  spite  of  all  we 
are  more  than  rewarded,  and  more  than 
conquerors." 

Then  I  took  Cynthia's  hand  and  laid  it 
in  the  hand  of  Lucius ;  and  I  left  them  there 
upon  the  peak,  and  turned  no  more.  And 
no  more  woeful  spirit  was  in  the  land  of 
heaven  that  day  than  mine  as  I  stumbled 
wearily  down  the  slope,  and  found  the 
valley.  And  then,  for  I  did  not  know  the 
way  to  descend,  I  commended  myself  to 
God;  and  He  took  me. 


XXXVI 

I  SAW  that  I  was  standing  in  a  narrow 
muddy  road,  with  deep  ruts,  which  led  up 
from  the  bank  of  a  wide  river — a  tidal 
river,  as  I  could  see,  from  the  great  mud- 
flats fringed  with  sea-weed.  The  sun 
blazed  down  upon  the  whole  scene.  Just 
below  was  a  sort  of  landing-place,  where 
lay  a  number  of  long,  low  boats,  shaded 
with  mats  curved  like  the  hood  of  a  waggon ; 
a  little  farther  out  was  a  big  quaint  ship, 
with  a  high  stern  and  yellow  sails.  Beyond 
the  river  rose  great  hills,  thickly  clothed 
with  vegetation.  In  front  of  me,  along  the 
roadside,  stood  a  number  of  mud-walled 
huts,  thatched  with  some  sort  of  reeds;  be- 
yond these,  on  the  left,  was  the  entrance  of 
a  larger  house,  surrounded  with  high  walls, 
the  tops  of  trees,  with  a  strange  red  foliage, 
appearing  over  the  enclosure,  and  the  tiled 

393 


394       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

roofs  of  buildings.  Farther  still  were  the 
walls  of  a  great  town,  huge  earthworks 
crowned  with  plastered  fortifications,  and 
a  gate,  with  a  curious  roof  to  it,  running 
out  at  each  end  into  horns  carved  of  wood. 
At  some  distance,  out  of  a  grove  to  the 
right,  rose  a  round  tapering  tower  of  moul- 
dering brickwork.  The  rest  of  the  nearer 
country  seemed  laid  out  in  low  plantations 
of  some  green-leaved  shrub,  with  rice-fields 
interspersed  in  the  more  level  ground. 

There  were  only  a  few  people  in  sight. 
Some  men  with  arms  and  legs  bare,  and 
big  hats  made  of  reeds,  were  carrying  up 
goods  from  the  landing-place,  and  a  num- 
ber of  children,  pale  and  small-eyed,  dirty 
and  half-naked,  were  playing  about  by  the 
roadside.  I  went  a  few  paces  up  the  road, 
and  stopped  beside  a  house,  a  little  larger 
than  the  rest,  with  a  rough  verandah  by  the 
door.  Here  a  middle-aged  man  was  seated, 
plaiting  something  out  of  reeds,  but  evi- 
dently listening  for  sounds  within  the 
house,    with    an    air    half-tranquil,    half- 


The  Child  of  the  Dawn       395 

anxious ;  by  him  on  a  slab  stood  something 
that  looked  like  a  drum,  and  a  spray  of 
azalea  flowers.  While  I  watched,  a  man 
of  a  rather  superior  rank,  with  a  dark 
flowered  jacket  and  a  curious  hat,  looked 
out  of  a  door  which  opened  on  the  verandah 
and  beckoned  him  in;  a  sound  of  low  sub- 
dued wailing  came  out  from  the  house,  and 
I  knew  that  my  time  was  hard  at  hand.  It 
was  strange  and  terrible  to  me  at  the  mo- 
ment to  realise  that  my  life  was  to  be  bound 
up,  I  knew  not  for  how  long,  with  this  re- 
mote place;  but  I  w^as  conscious  too  of  a 
deep  excitement,  as  of  a  man  about  to  start 
upon  a  race  on  which  much  depends.  There 
came  a  groan  from  the  interior  of  the 
house,  and  through  the  half-open  door  I 
could  see  two  or  three  dim  figures  standing 
round  a  bed  in  a  dark  and  ill-furnished 
room.  One  of  the  figures  bent  down,  and 
I  could  see  the  face  of  a  woman,  very  pale, 
the  eyes  closed,  and  the  lips  open,  her  arms 
drawn  up  over  her  head  as  in  an  agony 
of  pain.     Then  a  sudden  dimness  came  over 


396       The  Child  of  the  Dawn 

me,  and  a  deadly  faintness.  I  stumbled 
through  the  verandah  to  the  open  door. 
The  darkness  closed  in  upon  me,  and  I 
knew  no  more. 


THE  END 


Ji  Selection  from  the 
Catalogue  of 

C.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Complete  Catalogue  seat 
on  eppUoetioM 


By  Arthur  Christopher  Benson 

Fellow  of  Magdalene  College,  Cambridge 

FAMILIAR  essays  are  rare,  and  far  rarer 
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the  fluency,  and  the  varied  cadences  that 
combine  to  make  this  new  essayist's  style  so 
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Q.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


By  Arthur  Christopher  Benson 

Fellow  of  Magdalene  College,  Cambridge 

Alongf  the  Road 

Ct.  8° 

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